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ERNEST   LINWOOD; 


OB, 


THE  DINER  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


BY 


MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

R  OF  "  LINDA ;    OR,  THE  YOUNG    PILOT    OP   THB     BELLE   CREOLE,"   "  THB   BANISHED  SOH," 
OURTSHIP      AND     MARRIAGE  J      OR,    THB     JOYS     AND      SORROWS    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE," 

'THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE;    OR,  SCENES  IN  MRS.  HENTZ'S  CHILDHOOD," 

"  LOVE  AFTER  MARRIACJE,"  "  MARCUS  WARLAND ;  OR,  THE  LONQ  MOSS  SPRING," 

"EOLINE;    OR,  MAGNOLIA  VALE;  OB,   THE  HEIRESS  OF    QLRNMORB," 

"HELEN   AND    ARTHUR;  OR,    MISS   THUSA'S    SPINNING-WHEEL," 

"EGBERT  GRAHAM;"  A  SEQUEL  TO  "uifDA,"  we. 


"Thou  hast  called  me  thine  angel  in  moments  of  bliss, 
Still  thine  angel  I'll  prove  mid  the  horrors  of  this. 
Through  the  furnace  unshrinking  thy  steps  I'll  pursue, 
And  shield  thee,  aiid  save  thee,  and  perish  there  too." 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.    B.    PETERSON    &    BROTHERS; 

306    CHESTNUT     STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1869,  by 
T.  B.  PETEKSON  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the   Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of    the    United   States,  in   and  for  the 
.Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


MRS.   CAROLINE   LEE    HEKTZ'S   WORKS. 

Each  Work  is  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume. 

LINDA;     OR,     THE     YOUNG     PILOT     OF    THE    BELLE 
CREOLE. 

ROBERT  GRAHAM.    A  SEQUEL  TO  "LINDA." 

RENA;  OR,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.     A  TALE  OF  REAL  LIFE. 

EOLINE;  OR,  MAGNOLIA  VALE;  OR,   THE  HEIRESS  OF 
GLEN  MO  RE. 

MARCUS   WARLAND;  OR,  THE  LONG  MOSS  SPRING. 

ERNEST  LIN  WOOD;    OR,    THE   INNER    LIFE    OF    THE 
AUTHOR. 

THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE;    OR,  SCENES  IN 
MRS.  HENTZ'S  CHILDHOOD. 

HELEN  AND  ARTHUR;  OR,  MISS  THUSA'S  SPINNING- 
WHEEL. 

COURTSHIP    AND   MARRIAGE;     OR,     THE    JOYS    AND 
SORROWS  OF  AMERICAN  LIFE. 

LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE. 
THE  LOST  DAUGHTER. 
THE  BANISHED  SON. 

Price  $1.75  each  in  Morocco  Cloth;  or  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Above   books   are   for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  of  any  or 
all   of  the  above  books  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  post- 
age pre-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Publishers, 
T.  B.  PETEKSOtf  &  BBOTHEKS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


ERNEST   LINWOOD. 


CHAPTER   I. 

WITH  an  incident  of  my  childhood  I  will  commence  the 
record  of  my  life.  It  stands  out  in  bold  prominence,  rugged 
and  bleak,  through  the  haze  of  memory. 

I  was  only  twelve  years  old.  He  might  have  spoken  less 
harshly.  He  might  have  remembered  and  pitied  my  youth  and 
sensitiveness,  that  tall,  powerful,  hitherto  kind  man,  —  my  pre- 
ceptor, and,  as  I  believed,  my  friend.  Listen  to  what  he  did  say, 
in  the  presence  of  the  whole  school  of  boys,  as  well  as  girls, 
assembled  on  that  day  to  hear  the  weekly  exercises  read,  writ- 
ten on  subjects  which  the  master  had  given  us  the  previous 
week. 

One  by  one,  we  were  called  up  to  the  platform,  where  he  sat 
enthroned  in  all  the  majesty  of  the  Olympian  king-god.  One 
Dy  one,  the  manuscripts  were  read  by  their  youthful  authors, — 
the  criticisms  uttered,  which  marked  them  with  honor  or 
•hame,  —  gliding  figures  passed  each  other,  going  and  return- 
nig,  while  a  hasty  exchange  of  glances,  betrayed  the  flash  of 
triumph,  or  the  gloom  of  disappointment. 

"  Gabriella  Lynn  ! "  The  name  sounded  like  thunder  in  my 
ears.  I  rose,  trembling,  blushing,  feeling  as  if  every  pair  of 
eyes  in  the  hall  were  burning  *like  redhot  balls  on  my  face.  I 
tried  to  move,  Due  my  feet  were  glued  to  the  floor. 

'*> 


6  EKNEST     LINWOOD. 

«  Gabriella  Lynn  !  " 

The  tone  was  louder,  more  commanding,  and  I  dared  not 
resist  the  mandate.  The  greater  fear  conquered  the  less.  With 
a  desperate  effort  I  walked,  or  rather  rushed,  up  the  steps,  the 
paper  fluttering  in  my  hand,  as  if  blown  upon  by  a  strong  wind. 

"  A  little  less  haste  would  be  more  decorous,  Miss." 

The  shadow  of  a  pair  of  beetling  brows  rolled  darkly  over 
me.  Had  I  stood  beneath  an  overhanging  cliff,  with  the  ocean 
waves  dashing  at  my  feet,  I  could  not  have  felt  more  awe  or 
dread.  A  mist  settled  on  my  eyes. 

"  Read,"  —  cried  the  master,  waving  his  ferula  with  a  com- 
manding gesture,  —  "our  time  is  precious." 

I  opened  my  lips,  but  no  sound  issued  from  my  paralyzed 
tongue.  With  a  feeling  of  horror,  which  the  intensely  diffident 
can  understand,  and  only  they,  I  turned  and  was  about  to  fly 
back  to  my  seat,  when  a  large,  strong  hand  pressed  its  weight 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  arrested  my  flight. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Regulus.  "  Have  I 
not  lectured  you  a  hundred  times  on  this  preposterous  shame- 
facedness  of  yours  ?  Am  I  a  Draco,  with  laws  written  in  blood, 
a  tyrant,  scourging  with  an  iron  rod,  that  you  thus  shrink  and 
tremble  before  me  ?  Read,  or  suffer  the  penalty  due  to  disobe- 
dience and  waywardness." 

Thus  threatened,  I  commenced  in  a  husky,  faltering  voice 
the  reading  of  lines  which,  till  that  moment,  I  had  believed 
glowing  with  the  inspiration  of  genius.  Now,  how  flat  and 
commonplace  they  seemed !  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
ventured  to  reveal  to  others  the  talent  hidden  with  all  a  miser's 
vigilance  in  my  bosom  casket.  I  had  lisped  in  rhyme,  —  I  had 
improvised  in  rhyme,  —  I  had  dreamed  in  poetry,  when  the 
moon  and  stars  were  looking  down  on  me  with  benignant  lus- 
tre ;  —  I  had  thought  poetry  at  the  sunset  hour,  amid  twil  ght 
shadows  and  midnight  darkness.  I  had  scribbled  it  at  early 
morn  in  my  own  little  room,  at  noonday  recess  at  my  solitary 
desk  ;  but  no  human  being,  save  my  mother,  knew  of  the  young 
dream-girl's,  poetic  raptures. 

One  of  those  irresistible  promptings  of  the  spirit  which  all 


ERNESTLINWOOD.  7 

have  felt,  and  to  which  many  have  yielded,  induced  me  at  this 
era  to  break  loose  from  ray  shell  and  come  forth,  as  I  imagined, 
a  beautiful  and  brilliant  butterfly,  soaring  up  above  the  gaze  of 
my  astonished  and  admiring  companions.  Yes ;  with  all  my 
diffidence  I  anticipated  a  scene  of  triumph,  a  dramatic  scene, 
whicl  would  terminate  perhaps  in  a  crown  of  laurel,  or  a  pub- 
lic ovation. 

Lowly  self-estimation  is  by  no  means  a  constant  accompani- 
ment of  diffidence.  The  consciousness  of  possessing  great 
powers  and  deep  sensibility  often  creates  bashfulness.  It  is 
their  veil  and  guard  while  maturing  and  strengthening.  It  is 
the  flower-sheath,  that  folds  the  corolla,  till  prepared  to  encoun- 
ter the  sun's  burning  rays. 

«  Read ! " 

I  did  read,  —  one  stanza.  I  could  not  go  on  though  the 
scaffold  were  the  doom  of  my  silence. 

"  What  foolery  is  this  !     Give  it  to  me." 

The  paper  was  pulled  from  my  clinging  fingers.  Clearing 
his  throat  with  a  loud  and  prolonged  hem,  —  then  giving  a 
flourish  of  his  ruler  on  the  desk,  he  read,  in  a  tone  of  withering 
derision,  the  warm  breathings  of  a  child's  heart  and  soul,  strug- 
gling  after  immortality,  —  the  spirit  and  trembling  utterance  of 
long  cherished,  long  imprisoned  yearnings. 

Now,  when  after  years  of  reflection  I  look  back  on  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  moment,  I  can  form  a  true  estimate  of  the 
poem  subjected  to  that  fiery  ordeal,  I  wonder  the  paper  did  not 
scorch  and  shrivel  up  like  a  burning  scroll.  It  did  not  deserve 
ridicule.  The  thoughts  were  fresh  and  glowing,  the  measure 
correct,  the  versification  melodious.  It  was  the  genuine  off- 
spring of  a  young  imagination,  urged  by  the  "  strong  necessity  " 
of  giving  utterance  to  its  bright  idealities,  the  sighings  of  a  heart 
looking  beyond  its  lowly  and  lonely  destiny.  Ah !  Mr.  Regu- 
lus,  you  were  cruel  then. 

Methinks  I  see  him,  —  hear  him  now,  weighing  in  the  iron 
scales  of  criticism  every  springing,  winged  idea,  cutting  and 
dashing  thf  words  till  it  seemed  to  me  they  dropped  blood,  — 


8  BKHESTLINWOOD 

than  glancing  from  me  to  the  living  rows  of  benches  with  srr.h 
&  ccld,  sarcastic  smile. 

"What  a  barbarous,  unfeeling  monster!"  perhaps  I  hear 
some  one  exclaim. 

No,  he  was  not.  He  could  be  very  kind  and  indulgent.  He 
had  been  kind  and  generous  to  me.  He  gave  me  my  tuition, 
and  had  taken  unwearied  pains  with  my  lessons.  He  could  for- 
give great  offences,  but  had  no  toleration  for  little  follies.  Pie 
really  thought  it  a  sinful  waste  of  time  to  write  poetry  in 
school.  He  had  given  me  a  subject  for  composition,  a  useful, 
practical  one,  but  not  at  all  to  my  taste,  and  I  had  ventured  to 
disregard  it.  I  had  jumped  over  the  rock,  and  climbed  up  to 
the  flowers  that  grew  above  it.  He  was  a  thorough  mathemati- 
cian, a  celebrated  grammarian,  a  renowned  geographer  and  lin- 
guist, but  I  then  thought  he  had  no  more  ear  for  poetry  or 
music,  no  more  eye  for  painting,  —  the  painting  of  God,  or 
man,  —  than  the  stalled  ox,  or  the  Greenland  seal.  I  did  him 
injustice,  and  he  was  unjust  to  me.  I  had  not  intended  to  slight 
or  scorn  the  selection  he  had  made,  but  I  could  not  write  upon 
it,  —  I  could  not  help  my  thoughts  flowing  into  rhyme. 

Can  the  stream  help  gliding  and  rippling  through  its  flowery 
margins?  Can  the  bird  help  singing  and  warbling  upward  into 
the  deep  blue  sky,  sending  down  a  silver  shower  of  melody  as 
it  flies  ? 

Perhaps  some  may  think  I  am  swelling  small  things  into 
great;  but  incidents  and  actions  are  to  be  judged  by  their  re- 
sults, by  their  influence  in  the  formation  of  character,  and  the 
hues  they  reflect  on  futurity.  Had  I  received  encouragement 
instead  of  rebuke,  praise  instead  of  ridicule,  —  had  he  taken 
me  by  the  hand  and  spoken  some  such  kindly  words  as  these  :  — • 

"This  is  very  well  for  a  little  girl  like  you.  Lift  up  that 
downcast  face,  nor  blush  and  tremble,  as  if  detected  in  a  guilty 
act.  You  must  not  spend  too  much  time  in  the  reveries  of 
imagination,  for  this  is  a  working-day  world,  my  child.  Even 
the  birds  have  to  build  their  nests,  and  the  coral  insect  is  a 
mighty  laborer.  The  gift  of  song  is  sweet,  and  may  be  mado 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  9 

an  instrument  of  the  Creator's  glory.  The  first  notes  of  the 
lark  are  feeble,  compared  to  his  heaven-high  strains.  The 
fainter  dawn  precedes  the  risen  day." 

Oh !  had  he  addressed  me  in  indulgent  words  as  these,  who 
knows  but  that,  like  burning  Sappho,  I  might  have  sang  as  well 
as  loved  ?  Who  knows  but  that  the  golden  gates  of  the  Eden 
of  immortality  might  have  opened  to  admit  the  wandering  Peri 
to  her  long-lost  home  ?  I  might  have  been  the  priestess  of  a 
Bhrine  of  Delphic  celebrity,  and  the  world  have  offered  burning 
incense  at  my  altar.  I  might  have  won  the  laurel  crown,  and 
found,  perchance,  thorns  hidden  under  its  triumphant  leaves. 
I  might,  —  but  it  matters  not.  The  divine  spark  is  undying, 
and  though  circumstances  may  smother  the  flame  it  enkindles, 
it  glows  in  the  bosom  with  unquenchable  fire. 

I  remember  very  well  what  the  master  said,  instead  of  the 
imagined  words  I  have  written. 

"  Poetry,  is  it  ?  —  or  something  you  meant  to  be  called  by 
that  name?  Nonsense,  child  —  folly — moon-beam  hallucina- 
tion !  Child  !  do  you  know  that  this  is  an  unpardonable 
waste  of  time  ?  Do  you  remember  that  opportunities  of  im- 
provement are  given  you  to  enable  you  hereafter  to  secure  an 
honorable  independence  ?  This  accounts  for  your  reveries  over 
the  blackboard,  your  indifference  to  mathematics,  that  grand 
and  glorious  science  !  Poetry  !  ha,  ha  !  I  began  to  think  you 
did  not  understand  the  use  of  capitals,  —  ha,  ha  !  " 

Did  you  ever  imagine  how  a  tender  loaf  of  bread  must  feel 
when  cut  into  slices  by  the  sharpened  knife  ?  How  the  young 
bark  feels  when  the  iron  wedge  is  driven  through  it  with  cleav- 
ing force  ?  I  think  /  can,  by  the  experience  of  that  hour.  I 
stood  with  quivering  lip,  burning  cheek,  and  panting  breast,  — 
my  eyes  riveted  on  the  paper  which  he  flourished  in  his  left 
hand,  pointing  at  it  with  the  forefinger  of  his  right. 

"  He  shall  not  go  on,"  —  said  I  to  myself,  exasperation  giv- 
ing me  boldness,  —  "  he  shall  not  read  what  I  have  written  of 
my  mother.  I  will  die  sooner.  He  may  insult  my  poverty 
but  hers  shall  be  sacred,  and  her  sorrows  too." 

I  sprang  forward,  forgetting  every  thing  in  the  fear  of  hear 


10  EENESTLINTTOOD. 

ing  her  name  associated  with  derision,  and  attempted  to  get  pos- 
session of  the  manuscript.  A  fly  might  as  well  attempt  to  wring 
the  trunk  of  the  elephant. 

"  Really,  little  poetess,  you  are  getting  bold.  I  should  like  to 
see  you  try  that  again.  You  had  better  keep  quiet." 

A  resolute  glance  of  the  keen,  black  eye,  resolute,  yet  twink- 
ling with  secret  merriment,  and  he  was  about  to  commence 
another  stanza. 

I  jumped  up  with  the  leap  of  the  panther.  I  could  not  loosen 
his  strong  grasp,  but  I  tore  the  paper  from  round  his  fingers, 
ran  down  the  steps  through  the  rows  of  desks  and  benches, 
without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  and  flew  without  bonnet  or 
covering  out  into  the  broad  sunlight  and  open  air. 

"  Come  back,  this  moment ! " 

The  thundering  voice  of  the  master  rolled  after  me,  like  a 
heavy  stone,  threatening  to  crush  me  as  it  rolled.  I  bounded 
on  before  it  with  constantly  accelerating  speed. 

"  Go  back,  —  never ! " 

I  said  this  to  myself.  I  repeated  it  aloud  to  the  breeze  that 
came  coolly  and  soothingly  through  the  green  boughs,  to  fan 
the  burning  cheeks  of  the  fugitive.  At  length  the  dread  of 
pursuit  subsiding,  I  slackened  my  steps,  and  cast  a  furtive 
glance  behind  me.  The  cupola  of  the  academy  gleamed  white 
through  the  oak  trees  that  surrounded  it,  and  above  them  the 
glittering  vane,  fashioned  in  the  form  of  a  giant  pen,  seemed 
writing  on  the  azure  page  of  heaven. 

My  home,  —  the  little  cottage  in  the  woods,  was  one  mile  dis- 
tant. There  was  a  by-path,  a  foot-path,  as  it  was  called,  which 
cut  the  woods  in  a  diagonal  line,  and  which  had  been  trodden 
hard  and  smooth  by  the  feet  of  the  children.  Even  at  mid-day 
there  was  twilight  in  that  solitary  path,  and  when  the  shadows 
deepened  and  lengthened  on  the  plain,  they  concentrated  into 
gloominess  there.  The  moment  I  turned  into  that  path,  I  was 
supreme.  It  was  mine.  The  public  road,  the  thoroughfare 
leading  through  the  heart  of  the  town,  belonged  to  the  world. 
I  was  obliged  to  walk  there  like  other  people,  with  mincing 
steps,  and  bonnet  tied  primly  under  the  chin,  according  to  the 


EBNEST    LINWOOD.  11 

rule  and  plummet  line  of  school-girl  propriety.  But  in  my 
own  little  by-path,  I  could  do  just  as  I  pleased.  I  could  run 
with  iny  bonnet  swinging  in  my  hand,  and  my  hair  floating  like 
the  wild  vine  of  the  woods.  I  could  throw  myself  down  on  the 
grass  at  the  foot  of  the  great  trees,  and  looking  up  into  the 
deep,  distant  sky,  indulge  my  own  wondrous  imaginings. 

I  did  so  now.  I  cast  myself  panting  on  the  turf,  and  turning 
my  face  downward  instead  of  upward,  clasped  my  hands  over  it, 
and  the  hot  tears  gushed  in  scalding  streams  through  my  fingers, 
till  the  pillow  of  earth  was  all  wet  as  with  a  shower. 

Oh,  they  did  me  good,  those  fast-gushing  tears !  There  was 
comfort,  there  was  luxury  in  them.  Bless  God  for  tears !  How 
they  cool  the  dry  and  sultry  heart!  How  they  refresh  the 
fainting  virtues !  How  they  revive  the  dying  affections  ! 

The  image  of  my  pale  sweet,  gentle  mother  rose  softly 
through  the  falling  drops.  A  rainbow  seemed  to  crown  her 
with  its  sevenfold  beams. 

Dear  mother ! . —  would  she  will  me  to  go  back  where  the 
giant  pen  dipped  its  glittering  nib  into  the  deep  blue  ether? 


CHAPTER    II. 


"GET  up,  Gabriella,  —  you  must  not  lie  here  on  the  damp 
ground.  Get  up,  —  it  is  almost  night.  What  will  your  mother 
say  ?  what  will  she  think  has  become  of  you  ?  " 

I  started  up,  bewildered  and  alarmed,  passing  my  hands 
dreamily  over  my  swollen  eyelids.  Heavy  shadows  hung  over 
the  woods.  Night  was  indeed  approaching.  I  had  fallen  into 
a  deep  sleep,  and  knew  it  not. 

It  was  Richard  Clyde  who  awakened  me.  His  schoolmaster 
called  him  Dick,  but  I  thought  it  sounded  vulgar,  and  he  was 
always  Richard  to  me.  A  boy  of  fifteen,  the  hardest  student 
in  the  academy,  and,  next  to  my  mother  and  Peggy,  the  best 
friend  I  had  in  the  world.  I  had  no  brother,  and  many  a  time 
had  he  acted  a  brother's  part,  when  I  had  needed  a  manly 
champion.  Yet  my  mother  had  enjoined  on  me  such  strict  re- 
serve in  my  intercourse  with  the  boy  pupils,  and  my  disposition 
was  so  shy,  our  acquaintance  had  never  approached  familiarity. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  shake  you  so  hard,"  said  he,  stepping 
back  a  few  paces  as  he  spoke,  "  but  I  never  knew  any  one  sleep 
so  like  a  log  before.  I  feared  for  a  moment  that  you  were 
dead." 

"  It  would  not  be  much  matter  if  I  were,"  I  answered,  hardly 
knowing  what  I  said,  for  a  dull  weight  pressed  on  my  brain, 
and  despondency  had  succeeded  excitement. 

"  Oh,  Gabriella !  is  it  not  wicked  to  say  that  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  been  treated  as  badly  as  I  have,  you  would  feel 
'ike  saying  it  too." 

"  Yes !  "  he  exclaimed,  energetically,  "you  have  been  treated 
badly,  shamefully,  and  I  told  the  master  so  to  his  face." 
(12) 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  18 

*  You !  You  did  not,  Richard.  You  only  thought  so.  Yon 
«?ould  not  have  told  him  so  for  all  the  world." 

"  But  I  did,  though !  As  soon  as  you  ran  out  of  school,  it 
seemed  as  if  he  made  but  one  step  to  the  door,  and  his  face 
looked  as  black  as  night.  I  thought  if  he  overtook  you,  he 
might,  —  I  did  not  know  what  he  would  do,  he  was  so  angry. 
I  sat  near  the  door,  and  I  jumped  right  up  and  faced  him  on 
the  threshold.  Don 't,  sir,  don  't !  I  cried ;  she  is-  a  little  girl, 
and  you  a  great  strong  man." 

"  '  What  is  that  to  you,  sirrah  ?  '  he  exclaimed,  and  the  forked 
lightning  ran  out  of  his  eye  right  down  my  backbone.  It  aches 
yet,  Gabriella. 

"  It  is  a  great  deal,  Sir,  I  answered,  as  bold  as  a  lion.  You 
have  treated  her  cruelly  enough  already.  It  would  be  cowardly 
to  pursue  her." 

"  Oh,  Richard !  how  dared  you  say  that  ?  Did  he  not  strike 
you  ?  " 

"  He  lifted  his  hand  ;  but  instead  of  flinching,  I  made  myself 
as  tall  as  I  could,  and  looked  at  him  right  steadfastly.  You 
do  not  know  how  pale  he  looked,  when  I  stopped  him  on  the 
threshold.  His  very  lips  turned  white  —  I  declare  there  is 
something  grand  in  a  great  passion.  It  makes  one  look  some- 
how so  different  from  common  folks.  Well,  now,  as  soon  as  he 
raised  his  hand  to  strike  me,  a  red  flush  shot  into  his  face,  like 
the  blaze  of  an  inward  fire.  It  was  shame, —  anger  made  him 
white  —  but  shame  turned  him  as  red  as  blood.  His  arm  drop- 
ped down  to  his  side,  —  then  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  top  of  his 
head,  — '  Stay  after  school,'  said  he,  'I  must  talk  with  you.'  " 

"  And  did  you  ?  "  I  asked,  hanging  with  breathless  interest 
on  his  words." 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  just  left  him." 

"  He  has  not  expelled  you,  Richard  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  he  says  I  must  ask  his  pardon  before  the  whole 
achool  to-morrow.  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  I  will  never 
do  it." 

ft  I  am  so  sorry  this  has  happened,"  said  I.     "  Oh  !  that  I  had 


14  ERNEST    LINWOOD 

never  written  that  foolish,  foolish  poetry.     It  has  done  so  much 
mischief." 

"  You  are  not  to  blame,  Gabriella.  He  had  no  business  to 
laugh  at  it;  it  was  beautiful — all  the  boys  say  so.  I  have 
no  doubt  you  will  be  a  great  poetess  one  of  these  days.  He 
ought  to  have  been  proud  of  it,  instead  of  making  fun  of  you. 
It  was  so  mean." 

"  But  you  must  go  back  to  school,  Richard.  You  are  the 
best  scholar.  The  master  is  proud  of  you,  and  will  not  give 
you  up.  I  would  not  have  it  said  that  /  was  the  cause  of  your 
leaving,  for  twice  your  weight  in  solid  gold." 

"  Would  you  not  despise  me  if  I  asked  pardon,  when  I  have 
done  no  wrong ;  to  appear  ashamed  of  what  I  glory  in ;  to  act 
the  part  of  a  coward,  after  publicly  proclaiming  him  to  be 
one  ?  " 

"  It  is  hard,"  said  I,  "  but  —  " 

We  were  walking  homeward  all  the  while  we  were  talking, 
and  at  every  step  my  spirits  sank  lower  and  lower.  How  differ- 
ent every  thing  seemed  now,  from  what  it  did  an  hour  ago. 
True,  I  had  been  treated  with  harshness,  but  I  had  no  right  to 
rebel  as  I  had  done.  Had  I  kissed  the  rod,  it  would  have  lost 
its  sting,  —  had  I  borne  the  smart  with  patience  and  gentle- 
ness, my  companions  would  have  sympathized  with  and  pitied 
me ;  it  would  not  have  been  known  beyond  the  walls  of  the 
academy.  But  now,  it  would  be  blazoned  through  the  whole 
town.  The  expulsion  of  so  distinguished  a  scholar  as  Richard 
Clyde  would  be  the  nine  days'  gossip,  the  village  wonder.  And 
I  should  be  pointed  out  as  the  presumptuous  child,  whose  dis- 
appointed vanity,  irascibility,  and  passion  had  created  rebellion 
and  strife  in  a  hitherto  peaceful  seminary.  I,  the  recipient  of 
the  master's  favors,  an  ingrate  and  a  wretch !  My  mother  would 
know  this  —  my  gentle,  pale-faced  mother. 

Our  little  cottage  was  now  visible,  with  its  low  walls  of  gray 
ish  white,  and  vine-encircled  windows. 

"  Richard,"  said  I,  walking  as  slowly  as  possible,  though  it 
was  growing  darker  every  moment,  "I  feel  very  unhappy.  I 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  15 

•will  go  and  see  the  master  in  the  morning  and  ask  him  to  punish 
me  for  both.  I  will  humble  myself  for  your  sake,  for  you  havo 
been  my  champion,  and  I  never  will  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live. 
I  was  wrong  to  rush  out  of  school  as  I  did,  —  wrong  to  tear 
the  paper  from  his  hands,  —  and  I  am  willing  to  tell  him  so 
now.  It  shall  all  be  right  yet,  Richard,  —  indeed  it  shall." 

"  You  shall  not  humble  yourself  for  me,  Gabriella  ;  I  like  a 
girl  of  spirit." 

We  had  now  reached  the  little  gate  that  opened  into  our  own 
green  yard.  I  could  see  my  mother  looking  from  the  window  for 
her  truant  child.  My  heart  began  to  palpitate,  for  no  Catholic  ever 
made  more  faithful  confessions  to  his  absolving  priest,  than  I  to 
my  only  parent.  Were  I  capable  of  concealing  any  thing  from 
her,  I  should  have  thought  myself  false  and  deceitful.  With  feel- 
ings of  love  and  reverence  kindred  to  those  with  which  I  re- 
garded my  Heavenly  Father,  I  looked  up  to  her,  the  incarnate 
angel  of  my  life.  This  expression  has  been  so  often  used  it 
does  not  seem  to  mean  much ;  but  when  I  say  it,  I  mean  all  the 
filial  heart  is  capable  of  feeling.  I  was  poor  in  fortune,  but 
in  her  goodness  rich.  I  was  a  lonely  child,  but  sad  and  pen 
eive  as  she  was,  she  was  a  fountain  of  social  joy  to  me.  Then, 
she  was  so  beautiful  —  so  very,  very  lovely  I 

I  caught  the  light  of  her  pensive  smile  through  the  dimness 
of  the  hour.  She  was  so  accustomed  to  my  roaming  in  the 
woods,  she  had  suffered  no  alarm. 

"  If  my  mother  thinks  it  right,  you  will  not  object  to  my 
going  to  see  Mr.  Regulus,"  said  I,  as  Richard  lifted  the  gate- 
latch  for  me  to  enter. 

"  For  yourself,  no ;  but  not  for  me.  I  can  take  care  of  myself 
Gabriella." 

He  spoke  proudly.  He  did  not  quite  come  up  to  my  childish 
idea  of  a  boy  hero,  but  I  admired  his  self-reliance  and  bravery. 
I  did  not  want  him  to  despise  me  or  my  lack  of  spirit.  I  began 
to  waver  in  my  good  resolution. 

My  mother  called  me,  in  that  soft,  gentle  tone,  so  full  of 
music  and  of  love. 

In  ten  minutes  I  had  told  her  alL 


CHAPTER  III. 

IF  I  thought  any  language  of  mine  could  do  just  ice  to  Lei 
character,  I  would  try  to  describe  my  mother.  Were  I  to  speak 
of  her,  my  voice  would  choke  at  the  mention  of  her  name. 
As  I  write,  a  mist  gathers  over  my  eyes.  Grief  for  the  loss  of 
such  a  being  is  immortal,  as  the  love  of  which  it  is  born. 

I  have  said  that  we  were  poor,  —  but  ours  was  not  abject 
poverty,  hereditary  poverty,  — though  /had  never  known  afflu- 
ence, or  even  that  sufficiency  which  casts  out  the  fear  of  want. 
I  knew  that  my  mother  was  the  child  of  wealth,  and  that  she 
had  been  nurtured  in  elegance  and  splendor.  I  inherited  from 
he-r  the  most  fastidious  tastes,  without  the  means  of  gratifying 
them.  I  felt  that  I  had  a  right  to  be  wealthy,  and  that  misfor- 
tune alone  had  made  my  mother  poor,  had  made  her  an  alien 
from  her  kindred  and  the  scenes  of  her  nativity.  I  felt  a 
strange  pride  in  this  conviction.  Indeed  there  was  a  singular 
union  of  pride  and  diffidence  in  my  character,  that  kept  me 
aloof  from  my  young  companions,  and  closed  up  the  avenues  to 
the  social  joys  of  childhood. 

My  mother  thought  a  school  life  would  counteract  the  influ- 
ence of  her  own  solitary  habits  and  example.  She  did  not 
wish  me  to  be  a  hermit  child,  and  for  this  reason  accepted  the 
offer  Mr.  Regulus  made  through  the  minister  to  become  a 
pupil  in  the  academy.  She  might  have  sent  me  to  the  free 
schools  in  the  neighborhood,  but  she  did  not  wish  me  to  form 
associations  incompatible  with  the  refinement  she  had  so  care- 
fully cultivated  in  me.  She  might  have  continued  to  teach  me 
at  home,  for  she  was  mistress  of  every  accomplishment,  but  she 
thought  the  discipline  of  an  institution  like  this  would  give  tone 

(16) 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  17 

and  firmness  to  my  poetic  and  dreaming  mind.  She  wanted  me 
to  become  practical,  —  she  wanted  to  see  the  bark  growing  and 
hardening  over  the  exposed  and  delicate  fibres.  She  anticipated 
for  me  the  cold  winds  and  beating  rains  of  an  adverse  destiny. 
I  knew  she  did,  though  she  had  never  told  me  so  in  words.  I 
read  it  in  the  anxious,  wistful,  prophetic  expression  of  her  soft, 
deep  black  eyes,  whenever  they  rested  on  me.  Those  beautiful, 
mysterious  eyes ! 

There  was  a  mystery  about  her  that  gave  power  to  her  ex- 
cellence and  beauty.  Through  the  twilight  shades  of  her  sor- 
rowful loneliness,  I  could  trace  only  the  dim  outline  of  her  past 
life.  I  was  fatherless,  —  and  annihilation,  as  well  as  death, 
seemed  the  doom  of  him  who  had  given  me  being.  I  was  for- 
bidden to  mention  his  name.  No  similitude  of  his  features,  no 
token  of  his  existence,  cherished  by  love  and  hallowed  by  rev- 
erence, invested  him  with  the  immortality  of  memory.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  never  been. 

Thus  mantled  in  mystery,  his  image  assumed  a  sublimity  and 
grandeur  in  my  imagination,  dark  and  oppressive  as  night.  I 
would  sit  and  ponder  over  his  mystic  attributes,  till  he  seemed 
like  those  gods  of  mythology,  who,  veiling  their  divinity  in 
clouds,  came  down  and  wooed  the  daughters  of  men.  A  being 
so  lovely  and  good  as  my  mother  would  never  have  loved  a 
common  mortal.  Perhaps  he  was  some  royal  exile,  who  had 
found  her  in  his  wanderings  a  beauteous  flower,  but  dared  not 
transplant  her  to  the  garden  of  kings. 

My  mother  little  thought,  when  I  sat  in  my  simple  calico 
dress,  my  school-book  open  on  my  knees,  conning  my  daily  les- 
sons, or  seeming  so  to  do,  what  wild,  absurd  ideas  were  revelling 
in  my  brain.  She  little  thought  how  high  the  "  aspiring  blood  * 
of  mine  mounted  in  that  lowly,  woodland  cottage. 

I  told  her  the  history  of  my  humiliation,  pass'ion,  and  flight,  — « 
of  Richard  Clyde's  brave  defence  and  undaunted  resolution, 
—  of  my  sorrow  on  his  account,  —  of  my  shame  and  indignation 
on  my  own. 

"  My  poor  Gabriella ! " 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  my  mother  ?  " 


18  EKNEST     LINWOOD. 

"Angry!  No,  my  child,  it  was  a  hard  trial,  —  very  hard 
for  one  so  young.  I  did  not  think  Mr.  Regulus  capable  of  so 
much  unkindness.  He  has  cancelled  this  day  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude." 

"  My  poor  Gabriella,"  she  again  repeated,  laying  her  delicate 
hand  gently  on  my  head.  "  I  fear  you  have  a  great  deal  to 
contend  with  in  this  rough  world.  The  flowers  of  poesy  are 
sweet,  but  poverty  is  a  barren  soil,  my  child.  The  dew  that 
moistens  it,  is  tears." 

I  felt  a  tear  on  my  hand  as  she  spoke.  Child  as  I  was,  I 
thought  that  tear  more  holy  and  precious  than  the  dew  of 
heaven.  Flowers  nurtured  by  such  moisture  must  be  sweet. 

"  I  will  never  write  any  more,"  I  exclaimed,  with  desperate 
resolution.  "  I  will  never  more  expose  myself  to  ridicule  and 
contempt." 

"  Write  as  you  have  hitherto  done,  for  my  gratification  and 
your  own.  Your  simple  strains  have  beguiled  my  lonely  hours. 
But  had  I  known  your  purpose,  I  would  have  warned  you  of 
the  consequences.  The  child  who  attempts  to  soar  above  its 
companions  is  sure  to  be  dragged  down  by  the  hand  of  envy. 
Your  teacher  saw  in  your  effusion  an  unpardonable  effort  to  rise 
above  himself,  —  to  diverge  from  the  beaten  track.  You  may 
have  indulged  too  much  in  the  dreams  of  imagination.  You 
may  have  neglected  your  duties  as  a  pupil.  Lay  your  hand  on 
your  heart  and  ask  it  to  reply." 

She  spoke  so  calmly,  so  soothingly,  so  rationally,  the  fevei 
of  imagination  subsided.  I  saw  the  triumph  of  reason  and 
principle  in  her  own  self-control,  — for,  when  I  was  describing 
the  scene,  her  mild  eye  flashed,  and  her  pale  cheek  colored  with 
an  unwonted  depth  of  hue.  She  had  to  struggle  with  her  own 
emotions,  that  she  might  subdue  mine. 

"  May  I  ask  him  to  pardon  Richard  Clyde,  mother  ?  " 

"  The  act  would  become  your  gratitude,  but  I  fear  it  woulc 
avail  nothing.  If  he  has  required  submission  of  him,  he  wil 
hardly  accept  yours  as  a  substitute." 

u  Must  I  ask  him  to  forgive  me  ?     M  ast  I  return  ?  " 

I  hung  breathlessly  on  her  reply. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  19 

"  Wait  till  morning,  my  daughter.  We  shall  both  feel  differ- 
ently then.  I  would  not  have  you  yield  to  the  dictates  of  pas- 
sion, neither  would  I  have  you  forfeit  your  self-respect.  I  must 
not  rashly  counsel." 

'•  I  would  not  let  her  go  back  at  all,"  exclaimed  a  firm,  de- 
cided voice.  "  They  ain't  fit  to  hold  the  water  to  wash  her 
iiands." 

"  Peggy,"  said  my  mother,  rebukingly,  "  you  forget  yourself.* 

"  I  always  try  to  do  that,"  she  replied,  while  she  placed  on 
the  table  my  customary  supper  of  bread  and  milk. 

"  Yes,  indeed  you  do,"  answered  my  mother,  gratefully,  — 
"kind  and  faithful  friend.  But  humility  becometh  my  child 
better  than  pride." 

Peggy  looked  hard  at  my  mother,  with  a  mixture  of  rever- 
ence, pity,  and  admiration  in  her  clear,  honest  eye,  then  taking 
a  coarse  towel,  she  rubbed  a  large  silver  spoon,  till  it  shone 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  laid  it  by  the  side  of  my  bowl.  She 
had  first  spread  a  white  napkin  under  it,  to  give  my  simple  re- 
past an  appearance  of  neatness  and  gentility.  The  bowl  itself 
was  white,  with  a  wreath  of  roses  round  the  rim,  both  inside 
and  out.  Those  rosy  garlands  had  been  for  years  the  delight 
of  my  eyes.  I  always  hailed  the  appearance  of  the  glowing 
leaves,  when  the  milky  fluid  sunk  below  them,  with  a  fresh  ap- 
preciation of  their  beauty.  They  gave  an  added  relish  to  the 
Arcadian  meal.  They  fed  my  love  of  the  beautiful  and  the 
pure.  That  large,  bright  silver  spoon,  —  I  was  never  weary  of 
admiring  that  also.  It  was  massive  —  it  was  grand  —  and 
whispered  a  tale  of  former  grandeur.  Indeed,  though  the  fur- 
niture of  our  cottage  was  of  the  simplest,  plainest  kind,  there 
were  many  things  indicative  of  an  earlier  state  of  luxury  and 
elegance.  My  mother  always  used  a  golden  thimble,  —  she 
had  a  toilet  case  inlaid  with  pearl,  and  many  little  articles  ap- 
propriate only  to  wealth,  and  which  wealth  only  purchases. 
These  were  never  displayed,  but  I  had  seen  them,  and  made 
them  the  corner-stones  of  many  an  airy  castle. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

AND  who  was  Peggy  ? 

She  was  one  of  the  best  and  noblest  women  God  ever  made. 
She  was  a  treasury  of  heaven's  own  influences. 

And  yet  she  wore  the  form  of  a  servant,  and  like  her  divine 
Master,  there  was  "  no  beauty  "  in  her  that  one  should  desire  to 
look  upon  her. 

She  had  followed  my  mother  through  good  report  and  ill  re- 
port. She  had  clung  to  her  in  her  fallen  fortunes  as  something 
sacred,  almost  divine.  As  the  Hebrew  to  the  ark  of  the  cove- 
nant,—  as  the  Greek  to  his  country's  palladium,  —  as  tlfc  chil- 
dren of  Freedom  to  the  star-spangled  banner,  —  so  she  clung  in 
adversity  to  her  whom  in  prosperity  she  almost  worshipped.  I 
learned  in  after  years,  all  that  we  owed  this  humble,  self-sacri- 
ficing, devoted  friend.  I  did  not  know  it  then  —  at  least  not  all 
—  not  half.  I  knew  that  she  labored  most  abundantly  for  us,  — 
that  she  ministered  to  my  mother  with  as  much  deference  as 
if  she  were  an  empress,  anticipating  her  slightest  wants  and 
wishes,  deprecating  her  gratitude,  and  seeming  ashamed  of  her 
own  goodness  and  industry.  I  knew  that  her  plain  sewing, 
assisted  by  my  mother's  elegant  needle-work,  furnished  us  the 
means  of  support ;  but  I  had  always  known  it  so,  and  it  seemed 
all  natural  and  right.  Peggy  was  strong  and  robust.  The  bur- 
den of  toil  rested  lightly  on  her  sturdy  shoulders.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  she  was  born  with  us  and  for  us,  —  that  she  belonged 
to  us  as  rightfully  as  the  air  we  breathed,  and  the  light  that 
illumined  us.  It  never  entered  my  mind  that  we  could  live 
without  Peggy,  or  that  Peggy  could  live  without  us. 

My  mother's  health  was  very  delicate.  She  could  not  sew 
long  without  pressing  her  hand  on  her  aching  side,  and  then 
Peggy  would  draw  her  work  gently  from  her  with  her  large, 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  21 

kind  hand,  make  her  lie  down  and  rest,  or  walk  out  in  the  fresh 
air,  till  the  waxen  hue  was  enlivened  on  her  pallid  cheek. 
She  would  urge  her  to  go  into  the  garden  and  gather  flowers 
for  Gabriella,  "  because  the  poor  child  loved  so  to  see  them  in 
the  room."  We  had  a  sweet  little  garden,  where  Peggy  delved 
at  early  sunrise  and  evening  twilight.  Without  ever  seeming 
hurried  or  overtasked,  she  accomplished  every  thing  We  had 
the  earliest  vegetables,  and  the  latest.  We  had  fruit,  we  had 
flowers,  all  the  result  of  Peggy's  untiring,  providing  hand. 
The  surplus  vegetables  and  fruit  she  carried  to  the  village  mar- 
ket, and  though  they  brought  but  a  trifle  in  a  country  town, 
where  every  thing  was  so  abundant,  yet  Peggy  said,  "  we  must 
not  despise  the  day  of  small  gains."  She  took  the  lead  in  all 
business  matters  in-doors  and  out-doors.  She  never  asked  my 
mother  if  she  had  better  do  this  and  that ;  she  went  right 
ahead,  doing  what  she  thought  right  and  best,  in  every  thing 
pertaining  to  the  drudgery  of  life. 

When  I  was  a  little  child,  I  used  to  ask  her  many  a  question 
about  the  mystery  of  my  life.  I  asked  her  about  my  father,  of 
my  kindred,  and  the  place  of  my  birth. 

"  Miss  Gabriella,"  she  would  answer,  "  you  must  n't  ask  ques- 
tions. Your  mother  does  not  wish  it.  She  has  forbidden  me 
to  say  one  word  of  all  you  want  to  know.  When  you  ave  old 
enough  you  shall  learn  every  thing.  Be  quiet  —  be  patient.  It 
is  best  that  you  should  be.  But  of  one  thing  rest  assu/ed,  if 
ever  there  was  a  saint  in  this  world,  your  mother  is  one." 

I  never  doubted  this.  I  should  have  doubted  as  scon  the 
saintliness  of  those  who  wear  the  golden  girdles  of  Paradise. 
I  am  glad  of  this.  I  have  sometimes  doubted  the  love  and 
mercy  of  my  Heavenly  Father,  but  never  the  purity  and  excel- 
lence of  my  mother.  Ah,  yes  !  once  Avhen  sorely  tempted. 

We  retired  very  early  in  our  secluded,  quiet  home.  "We  had 
no  evening  visitors  to  charm  away  the  sober  hours,  ?,nd  time 
marked  by  the  sands  of  the  hour-glass  always  seems  to  glide 
more  slowly.  That  solemn-looking  hour-glass !  How  I  used 
to  gaze  on  each  dropping  particle,  watching  the  upward  segment 
gradually  becoming  more  and  more  transparent,  and  the  lower 


22  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

as  gradually  darkening.  It  was  one  of  Peggy's  inherited  treas- 
ures, and  she  reverenced  it  next  to  her  Bible.  The  glass  had 
l<sen  broken  and  mended  with  putty,  which  formed  a  dark, 
diagonal  line  across  the  venerable  crystal.  This  antique  chro- 
nometer occupied  the  central  place  on  the  mantel-piece,  its  glid- 
ing sands,  though  voiceless,  for  ever  whispering  of  ebbing  time 
and  everlasting  peace.  "  Passing  away,  passing  away,"  seemed 
continually  issuing  from  each  meeting  cone.  I  have  no  doubt 
the  contemplation  of  this  ancient,  solemn  instrument,  which  old 
Father  Time  is  always  represented  as  grasping  in  one  unclench 
ing  hand,  while  he  brandishes  in  the  other  the  merciless  scythe, 
had  a  lasting  influence  on  my  character. 

That  night,  it  was  long  before  I  fell  asleep.  I  lay  awake 
thinking  of  the  morning's  dawn.  The  starlight  abroad,  that 
came  in  through  the  upper  part  of  the  windows,  glimmered  on 
the  dark  frame  and  glassy  surface  of  the  old  timepiece,  which 
stood  out  in  bold  relief  from  tin  whitewashed  wall  behind  it. 
Before  I  knew  it,  I  was  composing  a  poem  on  that  old  hour- 
glass. It  was  a  hoary  pilgrim,  travelling  on  a  lone  and  sea-beat 
shore,  towards  a  dim  and  distant  goal,  and  the  print  of  his  foot- 
steps on  the  wave-washed  sands,  guided  others  in  the  same 
lengthening  journey.  The  scene  was  before  me.  I  saw  the 
ancient  traveller,  his  white  locks  streaming  in  the  ocean  blast; 
I  heard  the  deep  murmur  of  the  restless  tide ;  I  saw  the  foot- 
steps ;  and  they  looked  like  sinking  graves ;  when  all  at  once, 
in  the  midst  of  my  solemn  inspiration,  a  stern  mocking  face 
came  between  me  and  the  starlight  night,  the  jeering  voice  of 
my  master  was  in  my  ears,  a  dishonored  fragment  was  flutter- 
ing in  my  hand.  The  vision  fled ;  I  turned  my  head  on  my 
pillow  and  wept. 

You  may  say  such  thoughts  and  visions  were  strangely  pre- 
3ocious  in  a  child  of  twelve  years  old.  I  suppose  they  were ; 
but  I  never  remember  being  a  child.  My  sad,  gentle  mother, 
the  sober,  earnest,  practical  Peggy,  were  the  companions  of  my 
infancy,  instead  of  children  of  my  own  age.  The  sunlight  of 
my  young  life  was  not  reflected  from  the  golden  locks  of  child- 
hood, it*  radiant  smile  and  unclouded  eye.  I  was  defrauded 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  28 

of  the  sweetest  boon  of  that  early  season,  a  confidence  that  this 
world  is  the  happiest,  fairest,  best  of  worlds,  the  residence  of 
joy,  beauty,  and  goodness. 

A  thoughtful  child  !  I  do  not  like  to  hear  it.  What  has  a 
little  child  to  do  with  thought?  That  sad,  though  glorious  re- 
version of  our  riper  and  darker  years  ? 

Ah  me !  I  never  recollect  the  time  that  my  spirit  was  not 
travelling  to  grasp  some  grown  idea,  to  fathom  the  mystery  of 
my  being,  to  roll  away  the  shadows  that  surrounded  me,  grop- 
ing for  light,  toiling,  then  dreaming,  not  resting.  It  was  no 
wonder  I  was  weary  before  my  journey  was  well  begun. 

"  What  a  remarkable  countenance  Gabriella  has ! "  I  then 
often  heard  it  remarked.  "  Her  features  are  childish,  but  her 
eyes  have  such  a  peculiar  depth  of  expression,  —  so  wild,  and 
yet  so  wise." 

I  wish  I  had  a  picture  of  myself  taken  at  this  period  of  my 
life.  I  have  no  doubt  I  looked  older  then  than  I  do  now. 


CHAPTER   V. 

I  KNEW  the  path  which  led  from  the  boarding-place  of  Mr 
Regulus  crossed  the  one  which  I  daily  traversed.  I  met  him 
exactly  at  the  point  of  intersection,  under  the  shadow  of  a 
great,  old  oak.  The  dew  of  the  morning  glittered  on  the  shaded 
grass.  The  clear  light  blue  of  the  morning  sky  smiled  through 
upward  quivering  leaves.  Every  thing  looked  bright  and  buoy- 
ant, and  as  I  walked  on,  girded  with  a  resolute  purpose,  my 
spirit  caught  something  of  the  animation  and  inspiration  of  the 
scene. 

The  master  saw  me  as  I  approached,  and  I  expected  to  see  a 
frown  darken  his  brow.  I  felt  brave,  however,  for  I  was  about 
to  plead  for  another,  not  myself.  He  did  not  frown,  neither  did 
he  smile.  He  seemed  willing  to  meet  me,  —  he  even  slackened 
his  pace  till  I  came  up.  I  felt  a  sultry  glow  on  my  cheek  when 
I  faced  him,  and  my  breath  came  quick  and  short.  I  was  not 
so  very  brave  after  all. 

"  Master  Regulus,"  said  I,  «  do  not  expel  Richard  Clyde,  — 
do  not  disgrace  him,  because  he  thought  I  was  not  kindly  dealt 
with.  I  am  sorry  I  ran  from  school  as  I  did,  —  I  am  sorry  I 
wrote  the  poem,  —  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing  when  I 
snatched  the  paper  from  your  hands.  I  suppose  Richard 
hardly  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he  stopped  you  at  the 
door." 

I  did  not  look  up  while  I  was  speaking,  for  had  I  met  an 
angry  glance  I  should  have  rebelled. 

"  I  am  glad  1  have  met  you,  Gabriella,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  so 
gentle,  I  lifted  my  eyes  in  amazement.  His  beamed  with  unu- 
Buoi  kindness  beneath  his  shading  brows.  Gone  was  the  mock- 

(24) 


ERNEST     HNTVOOD.  25 

ing  gleam,  —  gone  the  deriding  smile.  He  looked  serious, 
earnest,  almost  sad,  but  not  severe.  Looking  at  his  watch,  and 
then  at  the  golden  vane,  as  if  that  too  were  a  chronometer,  he 
turr/ed  towards  the  old  oak,  and  throwing  himself  carelessly  on 
a  seat  formed  of  a  broken  branch,  partially  severed  from  the 
trunk,  motioned  me  to  sit  down  on  the  grass  beside  him.  Quick 
as  lightning  I  obeyed  him,  untying  my  bonnet  and  pushing  it 
back  from  my  head.  I  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of 
my  senses.  There  reclined  the  formidable  master,  like  a  great, 
overgrown  boy,  his  attitude  alone  banishing  all  restraint  and 
fear,  and  I,  perched  on  a  mossy  rock,  that  looked  as  if  placed 
there  on  purpose  for  me  to  sit  down  upon,  all  my  wounded  and 
exasperated  feelings  completely  drowned  in  a  sudden  overflow 
of  pleasant  emotions.  I  had  expected  scolding,  rebuke,  de- 
nial, —  I  had  armed  myself  for  a  struggle  of  power,  —  I  had 
resolved  to  hazard  a  martyr's  doom. 

Oh,  the  magic  of  kindness  on  a  child's  heart !  —  a  lonely,  sen- 
sitive, proud,  yearning  heart  like  mine  !  —  T  'is  the  witch-hazel 
wand  that  shows  where  the  deep  fountain  is  secretly  welling. 
I  was  ashamed  of  the  tears  that  would  gather  into  my  eyes. 
I  shook  my  hair  forward  to  coyer  them,  and  played  with  the 
green  leaves  within  my  reach. 

The  awful  space  between  me  and  this  tall,  stern,  learned 
man  seemed  annihilated.  I  had  never  seen  him  before,  divested 
of  the  insignia  of  authority,  beyond  the  walls  of  the  academy. 
I  had  always  been  compelled  to  look  up  to  him  before ;  now 
\ve  were  on  a  level,  on  the  green  sward  of  the  wild-wood. 
God  above,  nature  around,  no  human  faces  near,  no  fear  of 
man  to  check  the  promptings  of  ingenuous  feeling.  Softly  the 
folded  flower  petals  of  the  heart  began  to  unfurl.  The  morning 
breeze  caught  their  fragrance  and  bore  it  up  to  heaven. 

"  You  thought  me  harsh  and  unkind,  Gabriella,"  said  the 
master  in  a  low,  subdued  voice,  "  and  I  fear  I  was  so  yester- 
day. I  intended  to  do  you  good.  I  began  sportively,  but  when 
I  saw  you  getting  excited  and  angry,  I  became  angry  and 
excited  too.  My  temper,  which  is  by  no  means  gentle,  had 
been  previously  much  chafed,  and,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  the 


26  ERKE9TLINWOOD. 

irritation,  caused  by  the  offences  of  many,  burst  form  on  one, 
perhaps  the  most  innocent  of  all.  Little  girl,  you  have  been 
studying  the  history  of  France ;  do  you  remember  its  Louises  ?  — 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  a  profligate,  unprincipled,  selfish 
king.  Louis  the  Fifteenth,  another  God-defying,  self-adoring 
sensualist.  Louis  the  Sixteenth  one  of  the  most  amiable,  just, 
Christian  monarchs  the  world  ever  saw.  Yet  the  accumulated 
wrongs  under  which  the  nation  had  been  groaning  during  the 
reign  of  his  predecessors,  were  to  be  avenged  in  his  person,  — 
innocent,  heroic  sufferer  that  he  was.  This  is  a  most  interest- 
ing historic  fact,  and  bears  out  wonderfully  the  truth  of  God's 
words.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  give  a  lecture  on  history.  It  is 
out  of  place  here.  I  meant  to  do  you  good  yesterday,  and 
discourage  you  from  becoming  an  idle  rhymer  —  a  vain 
dreamer.  You  are  not  getting  angry  I  hope,  little  girl,  for  I 
am  kind  now." 

"  No,  sir,  —  no,  indeed,  sir,"  I  answered,  with  my  face  all  in  a 
glow. 

"  Your  mother,  I  am  told,  wishes  you  to  be  educated  for  a 
teacher,  a  profession  which  requires  as  much  training  as  the 
Spartan  youth  endured,  when  fitted  to  be  the  warriors  of  the 
land.  Why,  you  should  be  preparing  yourself  a  coat  of  mail, 
instead  of  embroidering  a  silken  suit.  How  do  you  expect  to 
get  through  the  world,  child,  —  and  it  is  a  hard  world  to  the  poor, 
a  cold  world  to  the  friendless,  —  how  do  you  expect  to  get  along 
through  the  briars  and  thorns,  over  the  rocks  and  the  hills  with 
nothing  but  a  blush  on  your  cheek,  a  tear  in  your  eye,  and  a 
sentimental  song  on  your  lips  ?  Independence  is  the  reward 
of  the  working  mind,  the  thinking  brain,  and  the  earnest 
heart." 

He  grew  really  eloquent  as  he  went  on.  He  raised  his  head 
to  an  erect  position,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  bushy  locks. 
I  cannot  remember  all  he  said,  but  every  word  he  uttered  had 
meaning  in  it.  I  appreciated  for  the  first  time  the  difficulties 
and  trials  of  a  teacher's  vocation.  I  had  thought  before,  that 
it  was  the  pupil  only  who  bore  the  burden  of  endurance.  It 
had  never  entered  my  mind  that  the  crown  of  authority  covered 


BRNKST    LINWOOD.  27 

the  thorns  of  care,  that  the  wide  sweep  of  command  wearied 
more  than  the  restraint  of  subjection.  I  was  flattered  by  tlv3 
manner  in  which  he  addressed  me,  the  interest  he  expressed  in 
my  future  prospects.  I  found  myself  talking  freely  to  him  of 
myself,  of  my  hopes  and  my  fears.  I  forgot  the  tyrant  of 
yesterday  in  the  friend  of  to-day.  I  remember  one  thing  he 
said,  which  is  worth  recording. 

"It  is  very  unfortunate  when  a  child,  in  consequence  of  a 
facility  of  making  rhyme,  is  led  to  believe  herself  a  pbetess,  — 
or,  in  other  words,  a  prodigy.  She  is  praised  and  flattered  by 
injudicious  friends,  till  she  becomes  inflated  by  vanity  and 
exalted  by  pride.  She  wanders  idly,  without  aim  or  goal,  in 
the  flowery  paths  of  poesy,  forgetful  of  the  great  highway  of 
knowledge,  not  made  alone  for  the  chariot  wheels  of  kings,  but 
the  feet  of  the  humblest  wayfarer." 

When  he  began  to  address  me,  he  remembered  that  I  was  a 
child,  but  before  he  finished  the  sentence  he  forgot  my  age,  and 
his  thoughts  and  language  swelled  and  rose  to  the  comprehension 
of  manhood.  But  I  understood  him.  Perhaps  there  was 
something  in  my  fixed  and  fascinated  glance  that  made  him 
conscious  of  my  full  appreciation. 

"I  have  no  friends  to  praise  and  flatter  me,"  I  simply 
answered.  "  I  have  loved  to  sing  in  rhyme  as  the  little  birds 
sing,  because  God  gave  me  the  power." 

He  looked  pleased.  He  even  laid  his  hand  on  my  head  and 
smiled.  Not  the  cold  smile  of  yesterday,  but  quite  a  genial 
smile.  I  could  hardly  believe  it  the  same  face,  it  softened  and 
transformed  it  so.  I  involuntarily  drew  nearer  to  him,  drawn 
by  that  powerful  magnetism,  which  every  human  heart  feels 
•  more  or  less. 

The  great  brazen  tongue  of  the  town  clock  rang  discordantly 
on  the  sweet  stillness  of  the  morning  hour.  The  master  rose 
and  motioned  me  to  follow  him. 

"  Richard  Clyde  is  forgiven.  Tell  him  so.  Let  the  past  be 
forgotten,  or  remembered  only  to  make  us  wiser  and  better." 

We  entered   the  academy  together,  to  the  astonishment  of 


28  4RNESTLINWOOD. 

the  pupils,  who  were  gathered  in  little  clusters,  probably  dis- 
cussing the  events  of  yesterday. 

Richard  Clyde  was  not  there,  but  he  came  the  next  day,  and 
the  scene  in  which  we  were  both  such  conspicuous  actors  was 
soon  forgotten.  It  had,  however,  an  abiding  influence  on  me. 
A  new  motive  for  exertion  was  born  within  me,  —  affection  for 
my  master,  —  and  the  consequence  was,  ambition  to  excel, 
that  I  might  be  rewarded  by  his  approbation. 

Did  he  ever  again  treat  me  with  harshness  and  seventy? 
No,  —  never.  I  have  often  wondered  why  he  manifested  such 
unusual  and  wanton  disregard  of  my  feelings  then,  that  one, 
only  time.  It  is  no  matter  now.  It  is  a  single  blot  on  a  fair 
page. 

Man  is  a  strangely  inconsistent  being.  His  soul  is  the  battle 
ground  of  the  warring  angels  of  good  and  evil.  As  one  or  the 
other  triumphs,  he  exhibits  the  passions  of  a  demon  or  the 
attribute?  of  a  God. 

Could  we  see  this  hidden  war  field,  would  it  not  be  grand  ? 
What  were  the  plains  of  Marathon,  the  pass  of  Thermopylae, 
or  Cannae  paved  with  golden  rings,  compared  to  it  ? 

Let  us  for  a  moment  imagine  the  scene.  Not  the  moment 
of  struggle,  but  the  pause  that  succeeds.  The  angels  of  good 
have  triumphed,  and  though  the  plumage  of  their  wings  may 
droop,  they  are  white  and  dazzling  so  as  no  "  fuller  of  earth 
could  whiten  them."  The  moonlight  of  peace  rests  upon  the 
battle  field,  where  evil  passions  lie  wounded  and  trampled  under 
feet.  Strains  of  victorious  music  float  in  the  air ;  but  it  comes 
from  those  who  have  triumphed  in  the  conflict  and  entered  into 
rest,  those  who  behold  the  conflict  from  afar.  It  is  so  still, 
that  one  can  almost  hear  the  trees  of  Paradise  rustle  in  the 
ambrosial  gales  of  heaven. 

Is  this  poetry  ?  Is  it  sacrilege  ?  If  so,  forgive  me,  thou  great 
Inspirer  of  thoug  it, —  "my  spirit  would  fain  not  wander  from 
tl.ee." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  life  of  a  school-girl  presents  but  few  salient  points  to 
arrest  the  interest.  It  is  true,  every  day  had  its  history,  and 
every  rising  and  setting  sun  found  something  added  to  the 
volume  of  my  life.  But  there  seems  so  little  to  describe  !  I 
could  go  on  for  ever,  giving  utterance  to  thoughts  that  used  to 
crowd  in  my  young  brain,  thoughts  that  would  startle  as  well  as 
amuse,  —  but  I  fear  they  might  become  monotonous  to  the 
reader. 

I  had  become  a  hard  student.  My  mother  wished  me  to  fit 
myself  for  a  teacher.  It  was  enough. 

It  was  not,  however,  without  many  struggles.  I  had  ac- 
quired this  submission  to  her  wishes.  Must  I  forever  be  a 
»,lave  to  hours  ?  Must  I  weave  for  others  the  chain  whose  daily 
restraint  chafed  and  galled  my  free,  impatient  spirit  ?  Must  I 
bear  the  awful  burden  of  authority,  that  unlovely  appendage  to 
youth  ?  Must  I  voluntarily  assume  duties  to  which  the  task  of 
the  criminal  that  tramps,  tramps  day  after  day  the  revolving 
tread-mill,  seems  light ;  for  that  is  mere  physical  labor  and  mo- 
notony, not  the  wear  and  tear  of  mind,  heart,  and  soul  ? 

"  What  else  can  you  do,  my  child  ?  "  asked  my  mother. 

"  I  could  sew." 

My  mother  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

;'  Your  skill  does  not  lie  in  handicraft,"  she  said,  "  that 
would  never  do." 

"  I  could  toil  as  a  servant.     I  would  far  rather  do  it." 

I  had  worked  myself  up  to  a  belief  in  my  own  sincerity  when 
I  said  this,  but  had  any  tongue  but  mine  suggested  the  idea, 
bow  would  my  aspiring  blood  have  burned  with  indignation. 

"  It  is  the  most  honorable  pa^h  +o  independence  a  friendless 

(29) 


80  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

young  girl  can  choose,  —  almost  the  only  one,"  said  my  mother, 
suppressing  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Oh,  mother !  I  am  not  friendless.  How  can  I  be,  with  you 
and  Peggy  ?  " 

"  But  we  are  not  immortal,  my  child.  Every  day  loosens 
my  frail  hold  of  earthly  things,  and  even  Peggy's  strong  arm 
will  in  time  grow  weak.  Your  young  strength  will  then  be  her 
Btay  and  support." 

"  Oh,  mother !  as  if  I  could  live  when  you  are  taken  from 
me !  What  do  I  live  for,  but  you  ?  What  have  I  on  earth 
but  thee  ?  Other  children  have  father  and  mother,  and  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  friends.  If  one  is  taken  from  them,  they  have 
others  left  to  love  and  care  for  them,  but  I  have  nobody  in  the 
wide  world  but  you.  I  could  not,  would  not  live  without  you." 

I  spoke  with  passionate  earnestness.  Life  without  my 
mother  !  The  very  thought  was  death !  I  looked  in  her  pale, 
beautiful  face.  It  was  more  than  pale,  —  it  was  wan  —  it  was 
sickly.  There  was  a  purplish  shadow  under  her  soft,  dark  eyes, 
which  I  had  not  observed  before,  and  her  figure  looked  thin  and 
drooping.  I  gazed  into  the  sad,  loving  depths  of  her  eyes,  till 
mine  were  blinded  with  tears,  when  throwing  my  arms  across 
her  lap,  I  laid  my  face  upon  them,  and  wept  and  sobbed  as  if 
the  doom  of  the  motherless  were  already  mine. 

"  Grief  does  not  kill,  my  Gabriella,"  she  said,  tenderly 
caressing  me.  "  It  is  astonishing  how  much  the  human  heart 
can  bear  without  breaking.  Sorrow  may  dry  up,  drop  by  drop, 
the  fountain  of  life,  but  it  is  generally  the  work  of  years.  The 
heart  lives,  though  every  source  of  joy  be  dead,  —  lives  with- 
out one  wellspring  of  happiness  to  quench  its  burning  thirst,— 
lives  in  the  midst  of  desolation,  darkness,  and  despair.  Oh, 
my  Gabriella,"  she  continued,  with  a  burst  of  feeling  that  swept 
over  her  with  irresistible  power,  and  bowed  her  as  before  a 
stormy  gust,  "  would  to  God  that  we  might  die  together,  —  that 
the  same  almighty  mandate  would  free  us  both  from  this 
prison-house  of  sorrow  and  of  sin.  I  have  prayed  for  resigna- 
tion, —  I  have  prayed  for  faith ;  but,  O  my  God !  I  am  rebel- 
lious, I  am  weak,  I  have  suffered  and  struggled  so  long." 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  81 

She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  physical  as  well  as  mental  agony.  I 
was  looking  up  in  her  face,  and  it  seemed  as' if  a  dark  shadow 
rolled  over  it.  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  screamed.  Peggy,  who 
was  already  on  the  threshold,  caught  her  as  she  fell  forward, 
and  laid  her  on  the  bed  as  if  she  were  a  little  child.  She  was 
in  a  fainting  fit.  I  had  seen  her  before  in  these  deathlike 
swoons,  but  never  had  I  watched  with  such  shuddering  dread  to 
see  the  dawn  of  awakening  life  break  upon  her  face.  I  stood 
at  her  pillow  scarcely  less  pale  and  cold  than  herself. 

"  This  is  all  your  doings,  Miss  Gabriella," '  muttered 
Peggy,  while  busily  engaged  in  the  task  of  restoration.  "  If 
you  don 't  want  to  kill  your  mother,  you  must  keep  out  of 
your  tantrums.  What 's  the  use  of  going  on  so,  I  wonder,  — 
and  what 's  the  use  of  my  watching  her  as  carefully  as  if  she 
was  made  of  glass,  when  you  come  like  a  young  hurricane  and 
break  her  into  atoms.  There,  —  go  away  and  keep  quiet.  Let 
her  be  till  she  gets  over  this  turn.  I  know  exactly  what 's  best 
for  her." 

She  spoke  with  authority,  and  I  obeyed  as  if  the  voice  of  a 
superior  were  addressing  me.  1  obeyed,  —  but  not  till  I  had 
seen  the  hue  of  returning  life  steal  over  the  marble  pallor  of 
her  cheek.  I  wandered  into  the  garden,  but  the  narrow  paths, 
the  precise  formed  beds,  the  homely  aspect  of  vegetable  nature, 
filled  me  with  a  strange  loathing.  I  felt  suffocated,  oppressed,  — 
I  jumped  over  the  railing  and  plunged  into  the  woods,  —  the 
wild,  ample  woods,  —  my  home,  —  my  wealth,  —  my  God- 
granted  inheritance.  I  sat  down  under  the  oaks,  and  fixed  my 
eyes  upwards  on  the  mighty  dome  that  seemed  resting  on  the 
etrong  forest  trees.  I  heard  nothing  but  the  soft  rustling  of 
the  leaves,  —  I  saw  nothing  but  the  lonely  magnificence  of 
nature. 

Here  I  became  calm.  It  seemed  a  matter  of  perfect  indiffer- 
ence to  me  then  what  I  did,  or  what  became  of  me,  —  whether 
I  was  henceforth  to  be  a  teacher,  a  seamstress,  or  a  servant. 
Every  consideration  was  swallowed  in  one,  —  every  fear  lost  in 
one  absorbing  dread.  I  had  but  one  prayer,  —  "  Let  my  mother 
live,  or  let  me  die  with  her  !  " 


82  ERNEST     LIN WOOD. 

Poverty  offered  no  privation,  toil  no  weariness,  suffering  no 
pang,  compared  to  the  one  great  evil  which  my  imagination 
grasped  with  firm  and  desperate  clench. 

Three  years  had  passed  since  I  had  lain  a  weeping  child 
under  the  shadow  of  the  oaks,  smarting  from  the  lash  of  de- 
rision, burning  with  shame,  shrinking  with  humiliation.  I  waa 
now  fifteen  years  old,  —  at  that  age  when  youth  turns  trembling 
from  the  dizzy  verge  of  childhood  to  a  mother's  guardian 
arms,  a  mother's  sheltering  heart.  How  weak,  how  puerile 
now  seemed  the  emotions,  which  three  years  ago  had  worn  such 
a  majestic  semblance. 

I  was  but  a  foolish  child  then,  —  what  was  I  now  ?  A 
child  still,  but  somewhat  wiser,  not  more  worldly  wise.  I 
knew  no  more  of  the  world,  of  what  is  called  the  world,  than  I 
did  of  those  golden  cities  seen  through  the  cloud-vistas  of  sun- 
set. It  seemed  as  grand,  as  remote,  and  as  inaccessible. 

At  this  moment  I  turned  my  gaze  towards  the  distant  cloud- 
turrets  gleaming  above,  walls  on  which  chariots  and  horsemen 
of  fire  seemed  passing  and  repassing,  and  I  was  conscious  of  but 
one  deep,  earnest  thought,  —  "  my  mother  !  " 

One  prayer,  sole  and  agonizing,  trembled  on  my  lips:  — 

"  Take  her  not  from  me,  O  my  God  !  I  will  drink  the  cup 
of  poverty  and  humiliation  to  the  dregs  if  thou  wilt,  without  a 
murmur,  but  spare,  0  spare  my  mother !  " 

God  did  spare'  her  for  a  little  while.  The  dark  hands  on  the 
dial-plate  of  destiny  once  moved  back  at  the  mighty  breath  of 
prayer. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

u  GABRIELLA,  —  is  it  you  ?  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  1 " 
That  clear,  distinct,  ringing  voice  !  —  I  knew  it  well,  thoush 
a  year  had  passed  since  I  had  heard  its  sound.  The  three 
years  which  made  me,  as  I  said  before,  a  wiser  child,  had  ma- 
tured my  champion,  the  boy  of  fifteen,  into  a  youth  of  eighteen, 
a  collegian  of  great  promise  and  signal  endowments.  I  felt 
very  sorry  when  he  left  the  academy,  for  he  had  been  my 
steadfast  friend  and  defender,  and  a  great  assistant  in  my 
scholastic  tasks.  But  after  he  entered  a  college,  I  felt  as  if 
there  were  a  groat  gulf  between  us,  never  more  to  be  passed 
over.  I  had  very  superb  ideas  of  collegians.  I  had  seen 
them  during  their  holidays,  which  they  frequently  came  into 
the  country  to  spend,  dashing  through  the  streets  like  the  wild 
huntsmen,  on  horses  that  struck  fire  as  they  flew  along.  I  had 
seen  them  lounging  in  the  streets,  with  long,  wild  hair,  and 
corsair  visages  and  Byron ian  collars,  and  imagined  them  a 
most  formidable  race  of  beings.  I  did  not  know  that  these 
were  the  scape-goats  of  their  class,  suspended  for  rebellion,  or 
expelled  for  greater  offences,  —  that  having  lost  their  character 
as  students,  they  were  resolved  to  distinguish  themselves  as 
dandies,  the  lowest  ambition  a  son  of  Adam's  race  can  feel.  It 
'9  true,  I  did  not  dream  that  Richard  Clyde  could  be  trans- 
formed into  their  image,  but  I  thought  some  marvellous  change 
must  take  place,  which  would  henceforth  render  him  as  much  a 
stranger  to  me  as  though  we  had  never  met. 

Now,  when  I  heard  the  clear,  glad  accents  of  his  voice,  so 
natural,  so  unchanged,  I  looked  up  with  a  glance  of  delighted 
recognition  into  the  young  student's  manly  face.  My  first  sen 

(33) 


84  ERNESTLINWOOD. 

eation  was  pleasure,  the  pleasure  which  congenial  youth  in 
spires,  mj  next  shame,  for  the  homeliness  of  my  occupation, 
I  was  standing  by  a  beautiful  bubbling  spring,  at  the  foot  of 
little  hill  near  my  mother's  cottage.  The  welling  spring,  the 
rock  over  which  it  gushed,  the  trees  which  bent  their  branches 
over  the  fountain  to  guard  it  from  the  sunbeams,  the  sweet  mu 
eic  of  the  falling  waters,  —  all  these  were  romantic  and  pictu 
resque.  I  might  imagine  myself"  a  nymph,  a  naiad,  or  a  grace." 
Or,  had  I  carried  a  pitcher  in  my  hand,  I  might  have  though} 
myself  another  Rebecca,  and  poised  on  my  shoulder  the  not 
ungraceful  burden.  But  I  was  dipping  water  from  the  spring, 
in  a  tin  pail,  of  a  broad,  clumsy,  unclassic  form,  —  too  heavy 
for  the  shoulder,  and  extremely  difficult  to  carry  in  the 
hand,  in  consequence  of  the  small,  wiry  handle.  In  my  confu- 
sion I  dropped  the  pail,  which  went  gaily  floating  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  spring,  entirely  out  of  my  reach.  The  strong,  bub- 
bling current  bore  it  upward,  and  it  danced  and  sparkled  and 
turned  its  sides  of  mimic  silver,  first  one  way  and  then  the  other, 
as  if  rejoicing  in  its  liberty. 

Richard  laughed,  his  old  merry  laugh,  and  jumping  on  the 
rock  over  which  the  waters  were  leaping,  caught  the  pail,  and 
waved  it  as  a  trophy  over  his  head.  Then  stooping  down  he 
filled  it  to  the  brim,  gave  one  spring  to  the  spot  where  I  stood, 
whirled  the  bucket  upside  down  and  set  it  down  on  the  grass 
without  spilling  a  drop. 

"  That  is  too  large  and  heavy  for  you  to  carry,  Gabriella," 
said  he.  "  Look  at  the  palm  of  your  hand,  there  is  quite  a  red 
groove  there  made  by  that  iron  handle." 

"  Never  mind,"  I  answered,  twisting  my  handkerchief  care- 
lessly round  the  tingling  palm,  "  I  must  get  used  to  it.  Peggy 
is  sick  and  there  is  no  one  to  carry  water  now  but  myself. 
"When  she  is  well,  she  will  never  let  me  do  any  thing  of  the 
kind." 

"  You  should  not,"  said  he,  decidedly.  "  You  are  not  strong 
enough,  —  you  must  get  another  servant.  —  I  will  inquire  in  the 
village  myself  this  morning,  and  send  you  one." 

"  O  no,  my  mother  would  never  consent  to  a  stranger  coming 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  85 

into  the  family.      Besides,  no  one  could  take  Peggy's  place. 
She  is  less  a  servant  than  a  friend." 

I  turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  that  I  could  not  keep  back. 
Peggy's  illness,  though  not  of  an  alarming  character,  showed  that 
even  her  iron  constitution  was  not  exempt  from  the  ills  which 
flesh  is  heir  to,  —  that  the  strong  pillar  on  which  we  leaned  so 
trustingly  could  vibrate  and  shake,  and  what  would  become  of 
us  if  it  were  prostrated  to  the  earth ;  the  lonely  column  of 
fidelity  and  truth,  to  which  we  clung  so  adhesively ;  the  sheet 
anchor  which  had  kept  us  from  sinking  beneath  the  waves  of 
adversity  ?  I  had  scarcely  realized  Peggy's  mortality  before, 
she  seemed  so  strong,  so  energetic,  so  untiring.  I  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  the  sun's  being  weary  in  its  mighty  task 
as  of  Peggy's  strong  arm  waxing  weak.  I  felt  very  sad,  and 
the  meeting  with  Richard  Clyde,  which  had  excited  a  momen- 
tary joy,  now  deepened  my  sadness.  He  looked  so  bright,  so 
pro-perous,  so  full  of  hope  and  life.  He  was  no  longer  the 
school-boy  whom  I  could  meet  on  equal  terms,  but  the  student 
entered  on  a  public  career  of  honor  and  distinction,  —  the  son  of 
ambition,  whose  gaze  was  already  fixed  on  the  distant  hill-tops 
of  fame.  There  was  nothing  in  his  countenance  or  manner 
that  gave  this  impression,  but  my  own  morbid  sensitiveness. 
The  dawning  feelings  of  womanhood  made  me  blush  for  the 
plainness  and  childishness  of  my  dress,  and  then  I  was  ashamed 
of  my  shame,  and  blushed  the  more  deeply. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  I  said,  stooping  to  raise  my 
brimming  pail,  —  "I  suppose  I  must  not  call  you  Richard 
now." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  hope  and  trust  none  of  my  old  friends  will 
begin  to  Mr.  Clyde  me  for  a  long  time  to  come,  and  least,  I 
mean  most  of  all,  you,  Gabriella.  We  were  always  such  ex 
ceedingly  good  friends,  you  know.  But  do  n't  be  in  such  ; 
hurry,  I  have  a  thousand  questions  to  ask,  a  thousand  thing! 
to  tell." 

"  I  should  love  to  hear  them  all,  Richard,  but  I  cannot  kee] 
my  mother  waiting." 

Sefore  I  could  get  hold  of  the  handle  of  the  pail,  he  Lad 
3 


86  ERNESTLINWOOD. 

seized  it  and  was  swinging  it  along  with  as  much  ease  as  if  he 
had  a  b-inch  of  roses  in  his  hand.  "We  ascended  the  little  hill 
together,  he  talking  all  the  time,  in  a  spirited,  joyous  manner, 
laughing  at  his  awkwardness  as  he  stumbled  against  a  rolling 
stone,  wishing  he  was  a  school-boy  again  in  the  old  academy, 
whose  golden  vane  was  once  an  object  of  such  awe  and  admo- 
nition in  his  eyes. 

"  By  the  way,  Gabriella,"  he  asked,  changing  from  subject 
to  subject  with  marvellous  rapidity,  "  do  you  ever  write  poetry 
now  ?  " 

"  I  have  given  that  up,  as  one  of  the  follies  of  my  childhood, 
one  of  the  dreams  of  my  youth." 

"  Really,  you  must  be  a  very  venerable  person,  —  you  talk 
of  the  youthful  follies  you  have  discarded,  the  dreams  from 
which  you  have  awakened,  as  if  you  were  a  real  centenarian. 
I  wonder  if  there  are  not  some  incipient  wrinkles  on  your 
face." 

He  looked  at  me  earnestly,  saucily ;  and  I  involuntarily  put 
up  my  hands,  as  if  to  hide  the  traces  of  care  his  imagination 
was  drawing. 

"  I  really  do  feel  old  sometimes,"  said  I,  smiling  at  the  mock 
scrutiny  of  his  gaze,  "  and  it  is  well  I  do.  You  know  I  am 
going  to  be  a  teacher,  and  youth  will  be  my  greatest  objection." 

"  No,  no,  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  a  teacher.  You  were 
not  born  for  one.  You  will  not  be  happy  as  one,  —  you  are 
too  impulsive,  too  sensitive,  too  poetic  in  your  temperament. 
You  are  the  last  person  in  the  world  who  ought  to  think  of  such 
a  vocation." 

"  Would  you  advise  me,  then,  to  be  a  hewer  of  wood  and  a 
drawer  of  water,  in  preference  ?  " 

"  I  would  advise  you  to  continue  your  studies,  to  read,  write 
poetry,  ramble  about  the  woods  and  commune  with  nature,  as 
you  so  love  to  do,  and  not  think  of  assuming  the  duties  of  a 
woman,  while  you  are  yet  nothing  but  a  child.  Oh  !  it  is  the 
most  melancholy  thing  in  the  world  to  me,  to  see  a  person  try- 
ing to  get  beyond  their  years.  You  must  not  do  it,  Gabriella. 
I  wish  I  could  make  you  stop  thinking  for  one  year.  I  d<>  aot 


EENESTLINW001>.  37 

like  to  see  a  cheek  as  young  as  yours  pale  with  overmuch 
thought.  Do  you  know  you  are  getting  very  like  your  mother  ?  " 

"  My  mother  !  "  I  exclaimed,  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  at  the 
fancied  resemblance,  "  why,  she  is  the  most  beautiful  person  I 
have  yet  seen,  —  there  is,  there  can  be  no  likeness." 

"  But  there  is,  though.  You  speak  as  if  you  thought  your- 
self quite  ugly.  I  wonder  if  you  do.  Ugly  and  old.  Strange 
self-estimation  for  a  pretty  girl  of  fifteen  ! " 

"  I  suppose  you  learn  to  flatter  in  college,"  said  I,  "  but  I  do 
not  care  about  being  flattered,  I  assure  you." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken  if  you  think  I  am  trying  to 
Hatter  you.  I  may  do  so  a  year  or  two  hence  if  I  chance  to 
meet  you  in  company,  but  here,  in  this  rural  solitude,  with  the 
very  element  of  truth  in  my  hand,  I  could  not  deceive,  if  1 
were  the  most  accomplished  courtier  in  the  world." 

"VVe  had  reached  the  top  of  the  green  acclivity  which  we 
had  been  ascending,  I  fear  with  somewhat  tardy  steps.  We 
could  see  the  road  through  an  opening  in  the  trees,  —  a  road 
little  travelled,  but  leading  to  the  central  stieet  of  the  town. 
The  unusual  sound  of  carriage  wheels  made  me  turn  my  head  in 
that  direction,  and  a  simultaneous  exclamation  of  Richard's 
fixed  my  attention. 

A  very  elegant  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  large  shining 
bay  horses  was  rolling  along  with  aristocratic  slowness.  The 
silver-plated  harness  glittered  so  in  the  sun,  it  at  first  dazzled 
my  eyes,  so  that  I  could  discern  nothing  distinctly.  Then  I 
saw  the  figures  of  two  ladies  seated  on  the  back  seat  in  light, 
airy  dresses,  and  of  two  gentlemen  on  horseback,  riding  be- 
hind. I  had  but  a  glimpse  of  all  this,  for  the  carriage  rolled 
on.  The  riders  disappeared  ;  but,  as  a  flash  of  lightning  reveals 
to  us  glimpses  of  the  cloud  cities  of  heaven  which  we  remem- 
ber long  after  the  electric  gates  are  closed,  so  the  vision 
remained  on  my  memory,  and  had  I  never  again  beheld  the 
youthful  form  nearest  to  us,  I  should  remember  it  still.  It 
was  that  of  a  young  girl,  with  very  fair  flaxen  hair,  curling  in 
profuse  ringlets  on  each  side  of  her  face,  which  was  exquisite- 
ly fair,  and  lighted  up  with  a  soft  rosiness  like  the  dawning  of 


88  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

morning.  A  blue  scarf,  of  the  color  of  her  eyes,  floated  over 
her  shoulders  and  fluttered  from  the  window  of  the  carriage. 
As  I  gazed  on  this  bright  apparition,  Richard,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, lifted  his  hat  from  his  brow  and  bowed  low  to  the  smiling 
stranger,  who  returned  the  salutation  with  graceful  ease.  The 
lady  on  the  opposite  side  was  hidden  by  the  fair-haired  girl,  and 
both  were  soon  hidden  by  the  thick  branches  that  curtained  the 
road. 

"  The  Linwoods  !  "  said  Richard,  glancing  merrily  at  the  tin 
pail,  which  shone  so  conspicuously  bright  in  the  sunshine. 
"  You  must  have  heard  of  them  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Not  heard  of  the  new-comers !  Hav  n't  you  heard  that 
Mrs.  Linwood  has  purchased  the  famous  old  Grandison  Place, 
that  has  stood  so  long  in  solitary  grandeur,  had  it  fitted  up  in 
modern  style,  and  taken  possession  of  it  for  a  country  residence  ? 
Is  it  possible  that  you  are  such  a  little  nun,  that  you  have 
heard  nothing  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  go  nowhere ;  no  one  comes  to  see  us ;  I  might  as  well 
be  a  nun." 

"But  at  school?" 

"  I  have  not  been  since  last  autumn.  But  that  fair,  beautiful 
young  lady,  is  she  a  daughter  of  Mrs.  Linwood  ?  " 

"  She  is,  —  Edith  Linwood.  Rather  a  romantic  name,  if 
it  not  ?  Do  you  think  her  beautiful  ?  " 

"  The  loveliest  creature  I  ever  looked  upon.  I  should  be 
quite  miserable  if  I  thought  I  never  should  look  upon  her 
again.  And  you  know  her,  —  she  bowed  to  you.  How  sorry 
I  am  she  should  see  you  performing  such  an  humble  office  for  a 
little  rustic  like  me ! " 

"  She  will  think  none  the  worse  of  me  for  it.  If  she  did,  J 
should  despise  her.  But  she  is  no  heartless  belle,  —  Edith  Lin- 
wood is  not.  She  is  an  angel  of  goodness  and  sweetness,  if  all 
they- say  of  her  be  true.  I  do  not  know  her  very  well.  She 
has  a  brother  with  whom  I  am  slightly  acquainted,  and  through 
him  I  have  been  introduced  into  the  family.  Mrs.  Linwood  is 
a  noble,  excellent  woman,  —  I  wish  you  knew  her.  I  wish  you 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  89 

knew  Edith,  —  I  wish  you  knew  them  all.  They  would  appre- 
ciate you.  I  am  sure  they  would." 

"  /  know  them  ! "  I  exclaimed,  glancing  at  our  lowly  cottage, 
my  simple  dress,  and  contrasting  them  mentally  with  the  lordly 
dwelling  and  costly  apparel  of  these  favorites  of  nature  and  of 
fortune.  "  They  appreciate  me  !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  Edith  Linwood  the  most  enviable  of 
human  beings.  Rich,  lovely,  with  the  power  of  gratifying  every 
wish,  and  of  dispensing  every  good,  she  would  gladly  ex- 
change this  moment  with  you,  and  dip  water  from  yon  bubbling 
spring." 

"  Impossible  ! "  I  cried.     "  How  can  she  help  being  happy  ?  * 

"  She  does  seem  happy,  but  she  is  lame,  and  her  health  is 
very  delicate.  She  cannot  walk  one  step  without  crutches,  on 
which  she  swings  herself  along  very  lightly  and  gracefully,  it  is 
true  ;  but  think  you  not  she  would  not  give  all  her  wealth  to 
be  able  to  walk  with  your  bounding  steps,  and  have  your  elastic 
frame  ?  " 

"  Crutches  ! "  said  I,  sorrowfully,  "  why  she  looked  as  if  she 
might  have  wings  on  her  shoulders.  It  t*  sad." 

"  She  is  not  an  object  of  pity.  You  will  not  think  she  is 
when  you  know  her.  I  only  wanted  to  convince  you,  that  you 
might  be  an  object  of  envy  to  one  who  seems  so  enviable  to 
you." 

I  would  gladly  have  lingered  where  I  was,  within  the  sound 
of  Richard  Clyde's  frank  and  cheerful  voice,  but  I  thought  of 
poor  Peggy  thirsting  for  a  cooling  draught,  and  my  conscience 
smote  me  for  being  a  laggard  in  my  duty.  It  is  true,  the  scene, 
•which  may  seem  long  in  description,  passed  in  a  very  brief 
space  of  time,  and  though  Richard  s*id  a  good  many  things,  he 
talked  very  fast,  without  seeming  hurried  either. 

"  I  shall  see  you  again  at  the  spring,"  said  he,  as  he  turned 
from  the  gate.  "  You  must  consider  me  as  the  Aquarius  of 
your  domestic  Zodiac.  I  should  like  to  be  my  father's  camel- 
driver,  if  that  were  Jacob's  well." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  his  gay  nonsense,  —  his  presence 
toad  been  so  brightening,  so  comforting.  I  had  gone  down  to 


40  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

the  spring  sad  and  desponding.  I  returned  with  a  countenance 
so  lighted  up,  a  color  so  heightened,  that  my  mother  looked  at 
me  with  surprise. 

As  soon  as  I  had  ministered  to  Peggy,  who  seemed  mortified 
and  ashamed  because  of  her  sickness,  and  distressed  beyond 
measure  at  being  waited  upon.  I  told  my  mother  of  my  inter- 
view with  Richard,  of  his  kindness  in  carrying  the  water,  the 
vision  of  the  splendid  carriage,  of  its  beautiful  occupants,  the 
fitting  up  of  the  old  Grandison  Place,  and  all  that  Richard  had 
related  to  me. 

She  listened  with  a  troubled  countenance.  "  Surely,  young 
Clyde  will  not  be  so  inconsiderate,  so  officious,  as  to  induce 
those  ladies  to  visit  us  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  mother.  He  is  not  officious.  He  knows  you 
would  not  like  to  see  them.  He  would  not  think  of  such  a 
thing." 

"  No,  no,"  I  repeated  to  myself,  as  I  exerted  myself  bravely 
in  my  new  offices,  as  nurse  and  housekeeper,  "  there  is  no  dan- 
ger of  that  fair  creature  seeking  out  this  little  obscure  spot. 
She  will  probably  ask  Richard  Clyde  who  the  little  country 
girl  was,  whose  water-pail  he  was  so  gallantly  carrying,  and  I 
know  he  will  speak  kindly  of  me,  though  he  will  laugh  at  being 
caught  in  such  an  awkward  predicament.  Perhaps  to  amuse 
her,  he  will  tell  her  of  my  flight  from  the  academy  and  the 
scenes  which  resulted,  and  she  will  ask  him  to  show  her  the 
poem,  rendered  so  immortal.  Then  merrily  will  her  silver 
laughter  ring  through  the  lofty  hall.  I  have  wandered  all  over 
Grandison  Place  when  it  was  a  deserted  mansion.  No  one  saw 
me,  for  it  is  far  back  from  the  street,  all  embosomed  in  shade, 
and  it  reminded  me  of  some  old  castle  with  its  turreted  roof 
and  winding  galleries.  I  wonder  how  it  looks  now."  I  was 
falling  into  one  of  my  old-fashioned  dreams,  when  a  moan  from 
Peggy  wakpueil  me,  and  I  sprang  to  her  bedside  with  re- 
newed alarm. 


CHAPTER    VHI. 

TES,  Peggy  was  very  sick  ;  but  she  would  not  acknowledge 
it.  It  was  nothing  but  a  violent  headache,  —  a  sudden  cold  ; 
she  would  be  up  and  doing  in  the  morning.  The  doctor ! 
No,  indeed,  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  doctors.  She 
had  never  taken  a  dose  of  medicine  in  her  life,  and  never  would, 
of  her  own  freewill.  Sage  tea  was  worth  all  the  pills  and 
nostrums  in  the  world.  On  the  faith  of  her  repeated  assertions, 
that  she  felt  a  great  deal  better  and  would  be  quite  well  in  the 
morning,  we  slept,  my  mother  and  myself,  leaving  the  lamp 
dimly  burning  by  the  solemn  hour-glass. 

About  midnight  we  were  awakened  by  the  wild  ravings  of 
delirious  agony,  —  those  sounds  so  fearful  in  themselves,  so 
awful  in  the  silence  and  darkness  of  night,  so  indescribably 
awful  in  the  solitude  of  our  lonely  dwelling. 

Peggy  had  struggled  with  disease  like  "  the  strong  man  pre- 
pared to  run  a  race,"  but  it  had  now  seized  her  with  giant 
grasp,  and  she  lay  helpless  and  writhing,  with  the  fiery  fluid 
burning  in  her  veins,  sending  dark,  red  flashes  to  her  cheeks 
and  brow.  Her  eyes  had  a  fierce,  lurid  glare,  and  she  tossed 
her  head  from  side  to  side  on  the  pillow  with  the  wild  restless- 
ness of  an  imprisoned  animal. 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  my  mother,  looking  as  white  as  the 
sheets,  and  trembling  all  over  as  in  an  ague-fit.  "  What  shall 
we  do  ?  She  will  die  unless  a  doctor  can  see  her.  Oh,  my 
child,  what  can  we  do  ?  It  is  dreadful  to  be  alone  in  the  woods, 
when  sickness  and  death  are  in  the  house." 

"  /"will  go  for  the  doctor,  mother,  if  you  are  not  afraid  to  stay 

(41) 


42  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

alone  with  Peggy,"  cried  I,  in  hurried  accents,  wrapping  a 
shawl  round  me  as  I  spoke. 

My  mother  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Oh  !  this  is  terrible,"  she  exclaimed.  "  How  dim  and  dark 
it  looks  abroad.  I  cannot  let  you  go  alone,  at  midnight.  It 
cannot  be  less  than  a  mile  to  Dr.  Harlowe's.  No,  no ;  I  can- 
not  let  you  go."  N 

"  And  Peggy  must  die,  then.  She  must  die  who  has  served 
us  so  faithfully,  and  lived  alone  for  us !  Oh,  mother,  let  me  go 
I  will  fly  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  You  will  hardly  miss  me 
before  I  return.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  darkness.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  the  lonely  woods.  I  only  fear  leaving  you  alone  with 
her." 

"  Go,"  said  my  mother,  in  a  faint  voice.  "  God  will  protect 
you.  I  fjel  that  He  will,  my  good,  brave  Gabriella." 

I  kissed  her  white  ;heek  with  passionate  tenderness,  cast  a 
glance  of  anguish  on  Peggy's  fearfully  altered  face,  then  ran 
out  into  the  chill,  dark  midnight.  At  first  I  could  scarcely  dis- 
cern the  sandy  path  I  had  so  often  trodden,  for  no  moon  lighted 
up  the  gloom  of  the  hour,  and  even  the  stars  glimmered  faintly 
through  a  grey  and  cloudy  atmosphere.  As  I  hurried  along, 
the  wind  came  sighing  through  the  trees  with  such  inexpressible 
sadness,  it  seemed  whispering  mournfully  of  the  dark  secrets  of 
nature.  Then  it  deepened  into  a  dull,  roaring  sound,  like  the 
murmurs  of  the  ocean  tide  ;  but  even  as  I  went  on  the  melan- 
choly wind  pursued  me  like  an  invisible  spirit,  winding  around 
me  its  chill,  embracing  arms. 

I  seemed  the  only  living  thing  in  the  cold,  illimitable  night. 
A  thick  horror  brooded  over  me.  The  sky  was  a  mighty  pall, 
sweeping  down  with  heavy  cloud-fringes,  the  earth  a  wide 
grave.  I  did  not  fear,  that  is,  I  feared  not  man,  or  beast-  or 
ghost,  but  an  unspeakable  awe  and  dread  was  upon  me.  I 
dreaded  the  great  God,  whose  presence  filled  with  insupportablb 
grandeur  the  lonely  night.  My  heart  was  hard  as  granite.  1 
could  not  have  prayed,  had  I  known  that  Peggy's  life  would  be 
given  in  answer  to  my  prayer.  I  could  not  say,  "  Our  Father, 
who  art  in  heaven,"  as  I  had  so  often  done  at  my  mother's  knee, 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  48 

in  the  sweet,  childlike  spirit  of  filial  love  and  submission.  My 
Father's  face  was  hidden,  and  behind  the  thick  clouds  of  dark- 
ness I  saw  a  stern,  vindictive  Being,  to  whom  the  smoke  of 
human  suffering  was  more  acceptable  than  frankincense  and 
myrrh. 

I  compared  myself  wandering  alone  in  darkness  and  sorrow, 
on  such  an  awful  errand,  to  the  fair,  smiling  being  cradled  in 
wealth,  then  doubtless  sleeping  in  her  bed  of  down,  watched  by 
attending  menials.  Oh  !  rebel  that  I  was,  did  I  not  need  the 
chastening  discipline,  never  exerted  but  in  wisdom  and  in  love  ? 

Before  I  knew  it,  I  was  at  Dr.  Harlowe's  door.  All  was 
dark  and  still.  The  house  was  of  brick,  and  it  loomed  up 
gloriously  as  I  approached.  It  seemed  to  frown  repulsively 
with  its  beetling  eaves,  as  I  lifted  the  knocker  and  let  it  fall  with 
startling  force.  In  a  moment  I  heard  footsteps  moving  and  saw 
a  light  glimmering  through  the  blinds.  He  was  at  home,  then,  — • 
I  had  accomplished  my  mission.  It  was  no  matter  if  I  died, 
since  Peggy  might  be  saved.  I  really  thought  I  was  going  to 
die,  I  felt  so  dull  and  faint  and  breathless.  I  sunk  down  on  the 
stone  steps,  just  as  the  door  was  opened  by  Dr.  Harlowe  him- 
self, whom  I  had  seen,  but  never  addressed  before.  Placing 
his  left  hand  above  his  eyes,  he  looked  out,  in  search  of  the  mes- 
senger who  had  roused  him  from  his  slumber.  I  tried  to  rise, 
but  was  too  much  exhausted.  I  could  scarcely  make  my 
errand  understood.  I  had  run  a  mile  without  stopping,  and 
now  I  had  stopped,  my  limbs  seemed  turned  into  lead  and  my 
head  to  ice. 

"  My  poor  child ! "  said  the  doctor,  in  the  kindest  manner 
imaginable.  "  You  should  not  have  come  yourself  at  this  hour. 
It  was  hardly  safe.  Why,  —  you  have  run  yourself  completely 
out  of  breath.  Come  in,  while  they  are  putting  my  horse  in 
the  buggy.  I  must  give  you-  some  medicine  before  we  start." 

He  stooped  down  and  almost  lifted  me  from  the  step  whero 
I  was  seated,  and  led  me  into  what  appeared  to  me  quite  a 
sumptuous  apartment,  being  handsomely  carpeted  and  having 
long  crimson  curtains  to  the  windows.  He  made  me  sit  down 


44  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

on  a  sofa,  while  he  went  to  a  closet,  and  pouring  out  a  generous 
glass  of  wine,  insisted  upon  my  drinking  it.  I  obeyed  him 
mechanically,  for  life  seemed  glowing  in  the  ruddy  fluid.  It 
was.  It  came  back  in  warmth  to  my  chilled  and  sinking  heart 
I  felt  it  stealing  like  a  gentle  fire  through  my  whole  system,  — 
burning  gently,  steadily  on  my  cheek,  and  kindling  into  light 
my  heavy  and  tear-dimmed  eyes.  It  was  the  first  glass  I  had 
ever  tasted,  and  it  ran  like  electricity  through  my  veins.  Had 
the  doctor  been  aware  of  my  previous  abstinence,  he  might  not 
have  thought  it  safe  to  have  offered  me  the  brimming  glass. 
Had  I  reflected  one  moment  I  should  have  swallowed  it  less 
eagerly  ;  but  I  seemed  sinking,  sinking  into  annihilation,  when 
its  reviving  warmth  restored  me.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  wings,  and 
could  fly  over  the  dreary  space  my  weary  feet  had  so  lately 
overcome. 

"  You  feel  better,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  benevo- 
lent smile,  as  he  watched  the  effect  of  his  prescription.  "  You 
must  not  make  so  dangerous  an  experiment  again  as  running 
such  a  distance  at  this  time  of  night.  Peggy's  life  is  very 
precious,  I  dare  say,  and  so  is  yours.  Are  you  ready  to 
ride  ?  My  buggy  is  not  very  large,  but  I  think  it  will  accom- 
modate us  both.  We  will  see." 

Though  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  spoken  with  Dr. 
Harlowe,  I  felt  as  much  confidence  in  his  kindness  and  benevo- 
lence as  if  I  had  known  him  for  years.  There  was  something 
so  frank  and  genial  about  him,  he  seemed,  like  the  wine  I  had 
been  quaffing,  warming  to  the  heart.  There  was  barely  room 
for  me,  slender  as  I  was,  for  the  carriage  was  constructed  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  doctor  alone ;  but  I  did  not  feel 
embarrassed,  or  as  if  I  were  intruding.  He  drove  very  rapidly, 
conversing  the  whole  time  in  a  pleasant,  cheering  voice. 

"  Peggy  must  be  a  very  valuable  person,"  he  said,  "  for  you 
(o  venture  out  so  bravely  in  her  cause.  We  must  cure  her,  by 
all  means." 

I  expatiated  on  her  virtues  with  all  the  eloquence  of  gratitude. 
Something  must  have  emboldened  my' shy  tongue,  —  some- 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  45 

thing  more  than  the  hope,  born  of  the  doctor's  heart-reviving 
words. 

"  He  is  come  —  he  is  come,"  I  exclaimed,  springing  from  the 
buggy  to  the  threshold,  with  the  quickness  of  lightning. 

Oh !  how  dim  and  sickly  and  sad  every  thing  appeared  in 
that  little  chamber !  I  turned  and  looked  at  the  doctor,  won- 
dering if  he  had  ever  entered  one  so  sad  before.  Peggy  lay  in 
an  uneasy  slumber,  her  arms  thrown  above  her  head,  in  a  wild, 
uncomfortable  attitude.  My  mother  sat  leaning  against  the 
head  of  the  bed,  pale  and  statue-like,  with  her  hand,  white  as 
marble,  partly  hidden  in  her  dark  and  loosely  braided  hair. 
The  doctor  glanced  at  the  bed,  then  at  my  mother,  and  his 
glance  riveted  on  her.  Surprise  warmed  into  admiration, — 
admiration  stood  checked  by  reverence.  He  advanced  a  few 
steps  into  the  room,  and  made  her  as  lowly  a  bow  as  if  she 
-were  an  empress.  She  rose  without  speaking  and  motioned 
me  to  hand  him  a  chair;  but  waiving  the  offered  civility,  he 
went  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed  and  laid  his  fingers  quietly  on  the 
pulse  of  his  patient.  He  stood  gravely  counting  the  ticking  of 
life's  great  chronometer,  while  my  mother  leaned  forward  with 
pale,  parted  lips,  and  I  gazed  upon  him  as  if  the  issues  of  life 
and  death  were  in  his  hands. 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  called  sooner,"  said  he,  with  a  sligh 
contraction  of  the  brows,  "  but  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  relieve 
her." 

He  called  for  a  basin  and  linen  bandage,  and  taking  a  lancet 
from  his  pocket,  held  up  the  sharp,  gleaming  point  to  the  light. 
I  shuddered,  I  had  never  seen  any  one  bled,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  an  awful  operation. 

"  You  will  hold  the  basin,"  said  he,  directing  me  with  his 
calm,  benignant  eye.  "  You  are  a  brave  girl,  —  you  will  not 
shrink,  as  some  foolish  persons  do,  at  the  sight  of  blood.  This 
side,  if  you  please,  my  dear." 

Ashamed  to  forfeit  the  confidence  he  had  in  my  bravery,  or 
rather  moral  courage,  I  grasped  the  basin  with  both  hands,  and 
held  it  firm,  though  my  lips  quivered  and  my  cheek  blanched. 

Peggy,  awakened  by  the  pressure  of  the  bandage,  began  to 


46  KRNESTLINWOOD 

rave  and  struggle,  and  I  feared  it  would  be  impossible  to  subdue 
her  into  sufficient  quietness  ;  but  delirious  as  she  was,  there 
was  something  in  the  calm,  authoritative  tones  of  Dr.  Harlowe's 
voice,  that  seemed  irresistible.  She  became  still,  and  lay  with 
her  half-closed  eyes  fixed  magnetically  on  his  face.  As  the 
dark-red  blood  spouted  into  the  basin,  I  started,  and  would 
have  recoiled  had  not  a  strong  controlling  influence  been  ex- 
erted over  me.  The  gates  of  life  were  opened.  How  easy 
for  life  itself  to  pass  away  in  that  deep  crimson  tide  ! 

"  This  is  the  poetry  of  our  profession,"  said  the  doctor,  bind- 
ing up  the  wound  with  all  a  woman's  gentleness. 

Poor  Peggy,  who  could  ever  associate  the  idea  of  poetry  with 
her  !  I  could  not  help  smiling  a  i  I  looked  at  her  sturdy  arm, 
through  whose  opaque  surface  tt  3  blue  wandering  of  the  veins 
was  vainly  sought. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  after  giving  her  a  comforting  draught, 
u  she  will  sleep,  and  you  must  sleep,  madam,"  turning  respect- 
fully to  my  mother ;  "  you  have  not  strength  enough  to  resist 
fatigue,  — your  daughter  will  have  two  to  nurse  instead  of  one, 
if  you  do  not  follow  my  advice." 

"  I  cannot  sleep,"  replied  my  mother. 

"  But  you  can  rest,  madam ;  it  is  your  duty.  What  did  I 
come  here  for,  but  to  relieve  your  cares  ?  Go  with  your 
mother,  my  dear,  and  after  a  while  you  may  come  back  and 
help  me." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  she  answered.  With  a  graceful 
bend  of  the  head  she  passed  from  the  room,  while  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed her  with  an  expression  of  intense  interest. 

It  is  no  wonder.  Even  I,  accustomed  as  I  was  to  watch  her 
every  motion,  was  struck  by  the  exceeding  grace  of  her  manner 
She  did  not  ask  the  doctor  what  he  thought  of  Peggy,  though 
I  saw  the  words  trembling  on  her  lips.  She  dared  not  do  it. 

From  that  night  the  seclusion  of  our  cottage  home  was  broken 
up.  Disease  had  entered  and  swept  down  the  barriers  of  cir 
cumstance  curiosity  had  so  long  respected.  We  felt  the  draw- 
ings of  that  golden  chain  of  sympathy  which  binds  together  the 
great  family  of  mankind. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  47 

Peggy's  disease  was  a  fever,  of  a  peculiar  and  malignant 
character.  It  was  the  first  case  which  occurred ;  but  it  spread 
through  the  town,  so  that  scarcely  a  family  was  exempt  from 
its  ravages.  Several  died  after  a  few  days'  sickness,  and  it  was 
said  purplish  spots  appeared  after  death,  making  ghostly  con- 
trast with  its  livid  pallor.  The  alarm  and  terror  of  the  com- 
munity rendered  it  difficult  to  obtain  nurses  for  the  sick ;  but, 
thanks  to  the  benevolent  exertions  of  Dr.  Harlowe,  we  were 
never  left  alone. 

Richard  Clyde,  too,  came  every  day,  and  sometimes  two  or 
three  times  a  day  to  the  spring,  to  know  what  he  could  do  for 
us.  No  brother  could  be  kinder.  Ah !  how  brightly,  how 
vividly  deeds  of  kindness  stand  out  on  the  dark  background  of 
sickness  and  sorrow !  I  never,  never  can  forget  that  era  of 
my  existence,  when  the  destroying  angel  seemed  winnowing 
the  valley  with  his  terrible  wings,  —  when  human  life  was 
blown  away  as  chaff  before  a  strong  wind.  Strange !  the  sky 
was  as  blue  and  benignant,  the  air  as  soft  and  serene,  as  if 
health  and  joy  were  revelling  in  the  green-wood  shade.  The 
gentle  rustling  of  the  foliage,  the  sweet,  glad  warbling  of  the 
birds,  the  silver  sparkling  of  the  streamlets,  and  the  calm, 
deep  flowing  of  the  distant  river,  all  seemed  in  strange  discord- 
ance with  the  throes  of  agony,  the  wail  of  sorrow,  and  the 
knell  of  death. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  brought  face  to  face 
with  sickness  and  pain.  The  constitutional  fainting  fits  of  my 
mother  were  indicative  of  weakness,  and  caused  momentary  ter- 
ror ;  but  how  different  to  this  mysterious,  terrible  malady,  this 
direct  visitation  from  the  Almighty!  Here  we  could  trace  no 
second  causes,  no  imprudence  in  diet,  no  exposure  to  the  night 
air,  no  predisposing  influences.  It  came  sudden  and  powerful 
as  the  bolt  of  heaven.  It  came  in  sunshine  and  beauty,  without 
herald  and  warning,  whispering  in  deep,  thrilling  accents  :  "  Be 
•till,  and  know  that  I  am  God." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

I  DO  not  wish  to  dwell  too  long  on  this  sad  page  of  my  young 
life,  but  sad  as  it  is,  it  is  followed  by  another  so  dark,  I  know 
not  whether  my  trembling  hand  should  attempt  to  unfold  it. 
Indeed,  I  fear  I  have  commenced  a  task  I  had  better  have  left 
alone.  I  know,  however,  I  have  scenes  to  relate  full  of  the 
wildest  romance,  and  that  though  what  I  have  written  mi,y  bo 
childish  and  commonplace,  I  have  that  to  relate  which  will  in- 
terest, ?f  the  development  of  life's  deepest  passions  have  power 
to  do  so. 

The  history  of  a  human  heart  !  a  true  history  of  that 
mystery  of  mysteries  !  a  description  of  that  city  of*  our  God, 
more  magnificent  than  the  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem !  This 
is  what  I  have  commenced  to  write.  I  will  go  on. 

For  nine  days  Peggy  wrestled  with  the  destroying  angel. 
During  that  time,  nineteen  funerals  had  darkened  the  winding 
avenue  which  led  to  the  graveyard,  and  she  who  was  first  at- 
tacked lingered  last.  It  was  astonishing  how  my  mother  sus- 
tained herself  during  these  days  and  nights  of  intense  anxiety. 
She  seemed  unconscious  of  fatigue,  passive,  enduring  as  the 
marble  statue  she  resembled.  She  ate  nothing,  —  she  did  not 
sleep.  I  know  not  what  supported  her.  Dr.  Harlowe  brought 
her  some  of  that  generous  wine  which  had  infused  such  life 
into  my  young  veins,  and  forced  her  to  swallow  it,  but  it  never 
brought  any  color  to  her  hueless  cheeks. 

On  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day,  Peggy  sunk  into  a  death- 
like stupor.  Her  mind  had  wandered  during  all  her  sickness, 
though  most  of  the  time  she  lay  in  a  deep  lethargy,  from  which 
nothing  could  rouse  her 


ERNEST     LINWOOD  49 

"  Go  down  to  th3  spring  and  breathe  the  fresh  air,"  said  the 
•factor;  "  there  should  be  perfect  quiet  here,  —  a  few  hours  will 
decide  her  fate." 

I  went  down  to  the  spring,  where  the  twilight  shades  were 
gathering.  The  air  came  with  balmy  freshness  to  my  anxious, 
feverish  brow.  I  scooped  up  the  cold  water  in  the  hollow  cf 
my  hand  and  bathed  my  face.  I  shook  my  hair  over  my 
shjulders,  and  dashed  the  water  over  every  disordered  tress. 
I  began  to  breathe  more  freely.  The  burning  weight,  the 
oppression,  the  suffocation  were  passing  away,  but  a  dreary 
sense  of  misery,  of  coming  desolation  remained.  I  sat  down 
on  the  long  grass,  and  leaning  my  head  on  my  clasped  hands, 
watched  the  drops  as  they  fell  from  my  dropping  hair  on  the 
mossy  rock  below. 

"  Is  it  not  too  damp  for  you  here  ?  " 

I  knew  Richard  Clyde  was  by  me,  —  I  heard  his  light  foot- 
steps on  the  sward,  but  I  did  not  look  up. 

"  It  is  not  as  damp  as  the  grave  will  be,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  n't  talk  so,  Gabriella,  do  n't.  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  yon. 
This  will  be  all  over  soon,  and  it  will  be  to  you  like  a  dark  and 
troubled  dream." 

"  Yes  ;  I  know  it  will  be  all  over  soon.  "We  shall  all  lie  in 
the  churchyard  together,  —  Peggy,  my  mother,  and  I,  —  and  you 
will  plant  a  white  rose  over  my  mother's  grave,  will  you  not  ? 
Not  over  mine.  No  flowers  have  bloomed  for  me  in  life,  —  it 
would  be  nothing  to  place  them  over  my  sleeping  dust." 

"  Gabriella !  You  are  excited,  —  you  are  ill.  Give  me  your 
hand.  I  know  you  have  a  feverish  pulse." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  his,  with  an  involuntary  motion.  Though 
it  was  moist  with  the  drops  that  had  been  oozing  over  it,  it  had 
a  burning  heat.  He  startled  at  its  touch. 

"  You  are  ill,  —  you  are  feverish  ! "  he  cried.  "  The  close 
air  of  that  little  room  has  been  killing  you.  I  knew  it  would. 
You  should  have  gone  to  Mrs.  Linwood's,  you  and  your  mother, 
when  she  sent  for  you.  Peggy  would  have  been  abundantly 
eared  for." 

"  What,  leave  her  here  to  die  !  —  her,  sc  good,  so  faithful,  and 


50  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

affectionate,  who  would  have  died  a  thousand  times  over  for  us 
Oh  Richard,  how  can  you  speak  of  such  a  thing !  Peggy  is 
dying  now,  —  I  know  that  she  is.  I  never  looked  on  death,  but 
I  saw  its  shadow  on  her  livid  face.  Why  did  Dr.  Harlowe 
send  me  away  ?  I  am  not  afraid  to  see  her  die.  Hark !  my 
mother  calls  me." 

I  started  up,  but  my  head  was  dizzy,  and  I  should  have 
fallen  had  not  Richard  put  his  arm  around  me. 

"  Poor  girl,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  I  had  a  sister  to  be  with  and 
comfort  you.  These  are  dark  hours  for  us  all,  for  we  feel  the 
pressure  of  God  Almighty's  hand.  I  do  not  wonder  that  you 
are  crushed.  You,  so  young  and  tender.  But  bear  up, 
Gabriella.  The  dayspring  will  yet  dawn,  and  the  shadows  fly 
away." 

So  he  kept  talking,  soothingly,  kindly,  keeping  me  out  in  the 
balminess  and  freshness  of  the  evening,  while  the  fever  atmos- 
phere burned  within.  I  knew  not  how  long  I  sat.  I  knew  not 
when  I  returned  to  the  house.  I  have  forgotten  that.  But  I 
remember  standing  that  night  over  a  still,  immovable  form,  on 
whose  pale,  peaceful  brow,  those  purplish  spots,  of  which  I  had 
heard  in  awful  whispers,  were  distinctly  visible.  The  tossing 
arms  were  crossed  reposingly  over  the  pulseless  bosom,  —  the 
restless  limbs  were  rigid  as  stone.  I  remember  seeing  my 
mother,  whom  they  tried  to  lead  into  another  chamber,  —  my 
mother,  usually  so  calm  and  placid,  —  throw  herself  wildly  on  that 
humble,  fever-blasted  form,  and  cling  to  it  in  an  agony  of  despair. 
[t  was  only  by  the  exertion  of  main  force  that  she  was  separated 
from  it  and  carried  to  her  own  apartment.  There  she  fell  into 
one  of  those  deadly  fainting  fits,  from  which  the  faithful,  affec- 
tionate Peggy  had  so  often  brought  her  back  to  life. 

Never  shall  I  forget  that  awful  night.  The  cold  presence  of 
mortality  in  its  most  appalling  form,  the  shadow  of  my  mother's 
doom  that  was  rolling  heavily  down  upon  me  with  prophetic 
darkness,  the  dismal  preparations,  the  hurrying  steps  echoing  so 
drearily  through  the  midnight  gloom  ;  the  cold  burden  of  life, 
the  mystery  of  death,  the  omnipotence  of  God,  the  unfathom- 
ableness  of  Eternity,  —  all  pressed  upon  me  with  such  a 


ERNESTLINWOOD.  51 

crushing   weight,  my  spirit  gasped  and  fainted  beneath   the 
burden. 

One  moment  it  seemed  that  worlds  would  not  tempt  me  to 
look  again  on  that  shrouded  form,  so  majestic  in  its  dread  im 
mobility,  —  its  cold,  icy  calmness,  —  then  drawn  hy  an  awful  fas- 
cination, I  would  gaze  and  gaze  as  if  my  straining  eyes  could 
penetrate  the  depths  of  that  abyss,  which  no  sounding  line  has 
ever  reached. 

I  saw  her  laid  in  her  lowly  grave.  My  mother,  too,  was 
there.  Dr.  Harlowe  did  every  thing  but  command  her  to  re 
main  at  home,  but  she  would  not  stay  behind. 

"  I  would  follow  her  to  her  last  home,"  said  she,  "  if  I  had  to 
walk  bai-efoot  over  a  path  of  thorns." 

Only  one  sun  rose  on  her  unburied  form,  —  its  setting  rays 
fell  on  a  mound  of  freshly  heaved  sods,  where  a  little  while 
before  was  a  mournful  cavity. 

Mrs.  Linwood  sent  her  beautiful  carriage  to  take  us  to  the 
churchyard.  Slowly  it  rolled  along  behind  the  shadow  of  the 
dark,  flapping  pall.  Very  few  beside  ourselves  were  present, 
so  great  a  panic  pervaded  the  community ;  and  very  humble 
was  the  position  Peggy  occupied  in  the  world.  People  won- 
dered at  the  greatness  of  our  grief,  for  she  was  only  a  servant. 
They  did  not  know  all  that  she  was  to  us,  —  how  could  they  ? 
Even  I  dreamed  not  then  of  the  magnitude  of  our  obligations. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  countenance  of  my  mother  as  she 
sat  leaning  from  the  carriage  windows,  for  she  was  too  feeble  to 
stand  during  the  burial,  while  I  stood  with  Dr.  Harlowe  at  the 
head  of  the  grave.  The  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  blue 
undulation  of  the  distant  hills,  and  a  mellow,  golden  lustre 
calmly  settled  on  the  level  plain  around  us.  It  lighted  up  her 
pallid  features  with  a  kind  of  unearthly  glow,  similar  to  that 
which  rested  on  the  marble  monuments  gleaming  through  the 
weeping  willows.  Every  thing  looked  as  serene  and  lovely, 
as  green  and  rejoicing,  as  if  there  were  no  such  things  as  sick- 
ness and  death  in  the  world. 

My  mother's  eyes  wandered   slowly  over  the  whole  inclo- 
sure,  shut  in  by  the  plain  white  railing,  edged  with  black,  — 
4 


52  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

gleamed  on  every  gray  stone,  white  slab,  and  green  hillock,  — 
rested  a  moment  on  me,  then  turned  towards  heaven,  with  such 
an  expression ! 

"  Not  yet,  my  mother,  oh,  not  yet ! "  I  cried  aloud  in  an 
agony  that  could  not  be  repressed,  clinging  to  Dr.  Harlowe's 
arm  as  if  every  earthly  stay  and  friend  were  sliding  from  my 
grasp.  I  knew  the  meaning  of  that  mute,  expressive  glance. 
She  was  measuring  her  own  grave  by  the  side  of  Peggy's  clay 
cold  bed,  —  she  was  commending  her  desolate  orphan  to  the 
Father  of  the  fatherless,  the  God  of  the  widow.  She  knew 
she  would  soon  be  there,  and  I  knew  it  too.  And  after  the  first 
sharp  pang,  —  after  the  arrow  of  conviction  fastened  in  my 
heart,  —  I  pressed  it  there  with  a  kind  of  stern,  vindictive  joy, 
triumphing  in  my  capacity  of  suffering.  I  wonder  if  any  one 
ever  felt  as  I  did,  —  I  wonder  if  any  worm  of  the  dust  ever 
writhed  so  impotently  under  the  foot  of  Almighty  God ! 

O  kind  and  compassionate  Father !  Now  I  know  thou  art 
kind  even  in  thy  chastisements,  merciful  even  in  thy  judgments, 
by  the  bitter  chalice  I  have  drained,  by  all  the  waves  and  bil- 
lows that  have  gone  over  me,  by  anguish,  humiliation,  repent- 
ance, and  prayer.  Forgive,  forgive!  for  I  knew  not  what  I 
was  doing ! 

From  that  night  my  mother  never  left  her  bed.  The  fever 
spared  her,  but  she  wilted  like  the  gr«as-  beneath  the  scythe  of 
the  mower.  Gone  was  the  unnatural  excitement  which  had 
sustained  her  the  last  nine  days ;  severed  the  silver  cord  sc 
long  dimmed  by  secret  tears. 

Thank  heaven !  I  was  not  doomed  to  see  her  tortured  by 
pain,  or  raving  in  delirious  agony,  —  to  see  those  exquisite  feat- 
ures distorted  by  frenzy,  —  or  to  hear  that  low,  sweet  voice 
untuned,  the  key-note  of  reason  lost. 

Thank  heaven !  even  death  laid  its  hand  gently  on  one  so 
gentle  and  so  lovely. 


CHAPTER    X. 

I  SAID,  death  laid  its  hand  gently  on  one  so  gentle  and  so 
lovely.  Week  after  week  she  lingered,  almost  imperceptibly 
fading,  passing  away  like  a  soft  rolling  cloud  that  melts  into  the 
sky.  The  pestilence  had  stayed  its  ravages.  The  terror,  the 
thick  gloom  had  passed  by. 

If  I  looked  abroad  at  sunset,  I  could  see  the  windows  of  the 
village  mansions,  crimsoned  and  glowing  with  the  last  flames  of 
day  ;  but  no  light  was  reflected  on  our  darkened  home.  It  was 
all  in  shadow.  And  at  night,  when  the  windows  of  Grandison 
Place  were  all  illuminated,  glittering  off  by  itself  like  a  great 
lantern,  the  traveller  could  scarcely  have  caught  the  glimmering 
ray  of  the  little  lamp  dimly  burning  in  our  curtained  room. 

Do  you  think  I  was  resigned  ?  That  because  I  was  dumb,  I 
lay  like  a  lamb  before  the  stroke  of  the  shearer  ?  I  will  tell  you 
how  resigned,  how  submissive  I  was.  I  have  read  of  the 
tortures  of  the  Inquisition.  I  have  read  of  one  who  was 
chained  on  his  back  to  the  dungeon  floor,  without  the  power  to 
move  one  muscle,  —  hand  and  foot,  body  and  limb  bound.  As 
he  lay  thus  prone,  looking  up,  ever  upwards,  he  saw  a 
circular  knife,  slowly  descending,  swinging  like  a  pendulum, 
swinging  nearer  and  nearer ;  and  he  knew  that  every  breath  he 
drew  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  that  he  must  feel  anon  the 
cold,  sharp  edge.  Yet  he  lay  still,  immovable,  frozen,  waiting, 
with  his  glazed  eyes  fixed  on  the  terrible  weapon.  Such  was 
my  resignation  —  my  submission. 

Friends  gathered  around  the  desolate ;  but  they  could  not 
avert  the  descending  stroke.  Mrs.  Linwood  came,  with  her  an- 
gelic looking  daughter,  and  their  presence  lighted  up,  momenta- 

(53) 


54  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

rily,  our  saddened  dwelling,  as  if  they  had  been  messengers  from 
heaven,  —  they  were  so  kind,  so  sympathizing,  so  unobtrusive. 
When  Edith  first  crossed  our  threshold,  she  did  indeed  look 
like  one  of  those  ministering  spirits,  sent  to  watch  over  those 
who  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation.  She  seemed  to  float  forward, 
light  and  airy  as  the  down  wafted  by  the  summer  gale.  Hei 
crutches,  the  ends  of  which  were  wrapped  with  something  soft 
and  velvety,  so  as  to  muffle  their  sound,  rather  added  than 
detracted  from  the  interest  and  grace  of  her  appearance,  so 
gracefully  they  sustained  her  fair,  white-robed  form,  just  lifting 
it  above  the  earth. 

A  little  while  before,  I  should  have  shrunk  with  nervous 
diffidence  from  the  approach  of  guests  like  these.  I  should 
have  contrasted  painfully  the  splendor  of  their  position  with  the 
lowliness  of  our  own,  —  but  now,  what  were  wealth  or  rank  or 
earthly  distinctions  to  me  ? 

I  was  sitting  by  my  mother's  bed,  fanning  her  slumbers,  a9 
they  entered.  Mrs.  Linwood  walked  noiselessly  forward,  took 
the  fan  gently  from  my  hand,  and  motioned  me  to  resign  my 
seat  to  her.  I  did  so  mechanically,  for  it  seemed  she  had  a 
right  to  be  there.  Then  Edith  took  me  by  the  hand  and  looked 
in  my  face  with  an  expression  of  such  sweet,  unaffected  sym- 
pathy, I  turned  aside  to  hide  the  quick-gushing  tears.  Not  a 
word  was  uttered,  yet  I  knew  they  came  to  soothe  and  comfort. 

When  my  mother  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  the  face  of  a 
stranger  bending  over  her,  she  started  and  trembled ;  but  there 
was  something  in  the  mild,  Christian  countenance  of  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood  that  disarmed  her  fears,  and  inspired  confidence.  The 
pride  which  had  hitherto  repelled  the  advances  of  friendship, 
was  all  chastened  and  subdued.  Death,  the  great  leveller,  had 
entered  the  house,  and  the  mountains  of  human  distinction 
flowed  down  at  his  presence. 

"  I  am  come  to  nurse  you,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  taking  my 
mother's  pale,  emaciated  hand  and  pressing  it  in  both  her  own. 
u  Do  not  look  upon  me  as  a  stranger,  but  as  a  friend  —  a  sister 
You  will  let  me  stay,  will  you  not  ?  " 

She  seemed  soliciting  a  favor,  not  conferring  one. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  55 

"  Thank  you,  —  bless  you !"  answered  my  mother,  her  large 
dark  eyes  fixed  with  thrilling  intensity  on  her  face.  Then  she 
added,  in  a  lower  voice,  glancing  towards  me,  "  she  will  not  be 
left  friendless,  then.  You  will  remember  her  when  I  am  gone." 

"  Kindly,  tenderly,  even  with  a  mother's  care,"  replied  Mrs. 
Linwood,  tears  suffusing  her  mild  eyes,  and  testifying  the  sin- 
cerity of  her  words. 

My  mother  laid  Mrs.  Linwood's  hand  on  her  heart,  whose 
languid  beating  scarcely  stirred  the  linen  that  covered  it;  (hen 
looking  up  to  heaven,  her  lips  moved  in  silent  prayer.  A 
smile,  faint  but  beautiful,  passed  over  her  features,  and  left  its 
sweetness  on  her  face.  From  that  hour  to  the  death-hour  Mrs. 
Linwood  did  minister  to  her,  as  a  loving  sister  would  have  done. 
Edith  often  accompanied  her  mother  and  tried  to  comfort  me, 
but  I  was  then  inaccessible  to  comfort,  as  I  was  deaf  to  hope. 
When  she  stayed  away,  I  missed  the  soft  floating  of  her  airy 
figure,  the  pitying  glance  of  her  heavenly  blue  eye  ;  but  when 
she  came,  I  said  to  myself, 

"  Her  mother  is  not  dying.  How  can  she  sympathize  with 
me  ?  She  is  the  favorite  of  Him  who  is  crushing  me  beneath 
the  iron  hand  of  His  wrath." 

Thus  impious  were  my  thoughts,  but  no  one  read  them  on 
my  pale,  drooping  brow.  Mrs.  Linwood  praised  my  filial 
devotion,  my  fortitude  and  heroism.  Dr.  Harlowe  had  told  her 
how  I  had  braved  the  terrors  of  midnight  solitude  through  the 
lonely  woods,  to  bring  him  to  a  servant's  bedside.  Richard 
Clyde  had  interested  her  in  my  behalf.  She  told  me  I  had 
many  friends  for  one  so  young  and  so  retiring.  Oh  !  she  little 
knew  how  coldly  fell  the  words  of  praise  on  the  dull  ear  of  de- 
spair. I  smiled  at  the  thought  of  needing  kindness  and  protec- 
tion when  she  was  gone.  As  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  sur 
vive  my  mother ! 

Had  she  not  herself  told  me  that  grief  did  not  kill  ?  But  I 
believed  her  not. 

Do  you  ask  if  I  felt  no  curiosity  then,  about  the  mystery  of 
my  parentage  ?  I  had  been  looking  forward  to  the  time  when 
J  fikould  be  deemed  old  enough  to  know  my  mother's  history 


56  ERXESTLIXWOOD. 

of  which  my  imagination  had  woven  such  a  web  of  mystory 
and  romance,  —  when  I  should  hear  something  of  that  father 
whose  memory  was  curtained  by  such  an  impenetrable  veil. 
But  now  it  mattered  not.  Had  I  known  that  the  blood  of  kings 
was  in  my  veins,  it  would  not  have  wakened  one  throb  of  am 
bition,  kindled  one  ray  of  joy.  I  cared  not  for  my  lineage  or 
kindred.  I  would  not  have  disturbed  the  serenity  that  seemed 
settling  on  my  mother's  departing  spirit,  by  one  question  rela 
tive  to  her  past  life,  for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies. 

She  gave  to  Mrs.  Linwood  a  manuscript  which  she  had  writ 
ten  while  I  was  at  school,  and  which  was  to  have  been  com- 
mitted to  Peggy's  care  ;  —  for  surely  Peggy,  the  strong,  the 
robust,  unwearied  Peggy,  would  survive  her,  the  frail,  delicate, 
and  stricken  one ' 

She  told  me  this  the  night  before  she  died,  when  at  her  own 
request  I  was  left  alone  with  her.  I  knew  it  was  for  the  last 
time,  but  I  had  been  looking  forward  steadily  to  this  hour,  — 
looking  as  I  said  before,  as  the  iron-bound  prisoner  to  the  re- 
volving knife,  and  like  him  I  was  outwardly  calm.  I  knelt 
beside  her  and  looked  on  her  shadowy  form,  her  white,  transpar- 
ent skin,  her  dark,  still  lustrous,  though  sunken  eyes,  till  it 
eeemed  that  her  spirit,  almost  disembodied,  mingled  mysteri- 
ously with  mine,  in  earnest  of  a  divine  communion. 

"  I  thank  God,  my  Gabriella,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  bless- 
ingly  on  my  bowed  head,  "  that  you  submit  to  His  holy  will,  in 
a  spirit  of  childlike  submission.  I  thank  Him  for  raising  up 
such  a  friend  as  Mrs.  Linwood,  when  friend  and  comforter 
seemed  taken  from  us.  Love  her,  confide  in  her,  be  grateful 
to  her,  my  child.  Be  grateful  to  God  for  sending  her  to  soothe 
my  dying  hours  with  promises  of  protection  and  love  for  you, 
my  darling,  my  child,  my  poor  orphan  Gabriella." 

"  Oh  mother,"  I  cried,  "  I  do  not  submit,  —  I  cannot,  —  I  can- 
not !  Dreadful  thoughts  are  in  my  heart  —  oh,  my  mother,  God 
is  very  terrible.  Leave  me  not  alone  to  meet  his  awful  judg- 
ments. Put  your  arms  round  me,  my  mother,  and  let  me  lie 
close  to  your  bosom,  I  will  not  hurt  you,  I  will  lie  so  gently 
there.  Death  cannot  separate  us,  when  we  cling  so  close  to 


ERNEST     LINTTOOD.  57 

gether.  Leave  me  not  alone  in  the  world,  so  cold,  so  dark,  so 
dreary,  —  oh,  leave  me  not  alone ! "  Thus  I  clung  to  her,  in  th« 
abandonment  of  despair,  while  words  rushed  unbidden  from  my 
lips. 

"  Oh,  my  Gabriella,  my  child,  my  poor  smitten  lamb ! "  she 
cried,  and  I  felt  her  heart  fluttering  against  mine  like  a  dying 
bird.  "  Sorrow  has  bereft  you  of  reason,  —  you  know  not  what 
you  say.  Gabriella,  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  resist  the  Almighty 
God.  Submission  is  the  heritage  of  dust  and  ashes,  /have 
been  proud  and  rebellious,  smarting  under  a  sense  of  unmerited 
chastisement  and  wrong.  Because  man  was  false,  I  thought 
God  unjust,  —  but  now,  on  this  dying  bed,  the  illusion  of  pas- 
sion is  dispelled,  and  I  see  Him  as  He  is,  longsuffering,  com 
passionate,  and  indulgent,  in  all  his  loving-kindness  and  tendei 
mercy,  strong  to  deliver  and  mighty  to  save.  I  feel  that  I  havt 
needed  all  the  discipline  of  sorrow  through  which  I  havt 
passed,  to  bring  my  proud  and  troubled  soul,  a  sin-sick,  life 
weary  wanderer,  to  my  Father's  footstool.  What  matters  now, 
my  Gabriella,  that  I  have  trod  a  thorny  path,  if  it  lead  to 
heaven  at  last  ?  How  short  the  journey,  —  how  long  the  rest  1 
Oh,  beloved  child,  bow  to  the  hand  that  smites  thee,  for  the 
stubborn  will  must  be  broken.  Wait  not,  like  me,  till  it  be 
ground  into  dust." 

She  paused  breathless  and  exhausted,  but  I  answered  not. 
Low  sobs  came  gaspingly  from  my  bosom,  on  which  a  mountain 
of  ice  seemed  freezing. 

"  If  we  could  die  together,"  she  continued,  with  increasing 
solemnity,  "  if  I  could  bear  you  in  these  feeble  arms  to  the 
mercy-seat  of  God,  and  know  you  were  safe  from  temptation, 
and  sorrow,  and  sin,  the  bitterness  of  death  would  be  passed. 
It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  live,  my  child,  far  more  fearful  than  to 
die,  —  but  life  is  the  trial  of  faith,  and  death  the  victory." 

"  And  now,"  she  added,  "  before  my  spirit  wings  its  upward 
flight,  receive  my  dying  injunction.  If  you  live  to  years  of 
womanhood,  and  your  heart  awakens  to  love,  —  as,  alas,  for 
woman's  destiny  it  will,  —  then  read  my  life  and  sad  experi 
.snce,  and  be  warned  by  my  example.  Mrs.  Linwood  is  in- 


68  ERNEST     LINTTOOD. 

trusted  with  the  manuscript,  blotted  with  your  mother's  tearat 
Oh,  Gabriella,  by  all  your  love  and  reverence  for  the  memory 
of  the  dead,  —  by  the  scarlet  dye  that  can  be  made  white  as 
wool,  —  by  your  own  hope  in  a  Saviour's  mercy,  forgive  the 
living,  —  if  living  he  indeed  be  !  " 

Her  eyes  closed  as  she  uttered  these  words,  and  a  purplish 
gloom  gathered  beneath  her  eyes.  The  doctor  came  in  and 
administered  ether,  which  partially  revived  her.  I  have  nevei 
been  able  to  inhale  it  since,  without  feeling  sick  and  faint,  and 
recalling  the  deadly  odor  of  that  chamber  of  mourning. 

About  daybreak,  I  heard  Dr.  Harlowe  say  in  the  lowest 
•whisper  to  Mrs.  Linvvood  that  she  could  not  live  more  than  one 
hour.  He  turned  the  hour-glass  as  he  spoke.  She  had  col- 
lected all  the  energies  of  life  in  that  parting  interview,  —  notb 
ing  remained  but  a  faint,  fluttering,  quick-drawn  breath. 

I  sat  looking  at  the  hour-glass,  counting  every  gliding  sand, 
till  each  little,  almost  invisible  particle,  instead  of  dropping  into 
the  crystal  receptacle,  seemed  to  fall  on  my  naked  heart  like 
the  mountain  rock.  0  my  God !  there  are  only  two  or  three 
sands  left,  and  my  mother's  life  hangs  on  the  last  sinking  grain. 
Some  one  rises  with  noiseless  steps  to  turn  the  glass. 

With  a  shriek  that  might  have  arrested  the  departing  spirit, 
I  sprang  forward  and  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 

I  remember  nothing  that  passed  during  the  day.  I  was  told 
afterwards,  that  when  I  recovered  from  the  fainting  fit,  the 
doctor,  apprehensive  of  spasms,  gave  me  a  powerful  anodyne 
to  quiet  my  tortured  nerves.  When  I  became  conscious  of 
what  was  passing  around  me,  the  moon  was  shining  on  the  bed 
where  I  lay,  and  the  shadow  of  the  softly  rustling  leaves  quiv- 
ering on  the  counterpane.  I  was  alone,  but  I  heard  low,  mur- 
muring voices  in  the  next  room,  and  there  was  a  light  there 
more  dim  and  earthly  than  the  pale  splendor  that  enveloped 
me.  I  leaned  forward  on  my  elbow  and  looked  beyond  the 
open  door.  The  plain  white  curtains  of  the  bed  were  looped 
up  on  each  side,  and  the  festoons  swayed  heavily  in  the  night 
air,  which  made  the  flame  of  the  lamp  dim  and  wavering.  A 
form  reclined  on  the  bed,  but  the  face  was  "dl  covered,  thougb  it 


EXNEST    LINWOOD.  59 

was  a  midsummer's  night.  As  I  looked,  I  remembered  all,  anJ 
I  rose  and  glided  through  the  moonlight  to  the  spot  where  my 
mother  slept.  Sustained  by  unnatural  excitement,  I  seemed 
borne  on  air,  and  as  much  separated  from  the  body  as  the  spirit 
so  lately  divorced  from  that  unbreathing  clay  ;  it  was  the  effect 
of  the  opiate  I  had  taken,  but  the  pale  watchers  in  the  death- 
chamber  shuddered  at  my  unearthly  appearance. 

"  Let  there  be  no  light  here  but  light  from  heaven,"  said 
I,  extinguishing  the  fitful  lamp-flame  ;  and  the  room  was  imme- 
diately illuminated  with  a  white,  ghostly  lustre.  Then  kneeling 
by  the  bed,  I  folded  back  the  linen  sheet,  gazed  with  folded 
hands,  and  dry,  dilated  eyes  on  the  mystery  of  death.  Tho 
moon,  "  that  sun  of  the  sleepless,"  that  star  of  the  mourner, 
shone  full  on  her  brow,  and  I  smiled  to  see  how  divinely  fair, 
how  placid,  how  angelic  she  looked.  Her  dark,  shining  hair, 
the  long  dark  lashes  that  pencilled  her  white  cheek,  alone 
prevented  her  from  seeming  a  statue  of  the  purest  marble, 
fashioned  after  some  Grecian  model.  Beauty  and  youth  had 
come  back  to  her  reposing  features,  and  peace  and  rapture  too. 
A  smile,  such  as  no  living  lips  ever  wore,  lingered  round  her 
mouth  and  softened  its  mute  expression.  She  was  happy. 
God  had  given  his  beloved  rest.  She  was  happy.  It  was  not 
death  on  which  I  was  gazing ;  it  was  life,  —  the  dawn  of 
immortal,  of  eternal  life.  Angels  were  watching  around  her. 
I  did  not  see  them,  but  I  felt  the  shadow  of  their  snow-white 
wings.  I  felt  them  fanning  my  brow  and  softly  lifting  the  locks 
that  fell  darkly  against  the  sheet,  so  chilly  white.  Others  might 
have  thought  it  the  wind  sighing  through  the  leafy  lattice-work ; 
but  the  presence  of  angels  was  real  to  me,  —  and  who  can  say 
they  were  not  hovering  there  ? 

That  scene  is  past,  but  its  remembrance  is  undying.  The 
little  cottage  is  inhabited  by  strangers.  The  grass  grows  rank 
near  the  brink  of  the  fountain,  and  the  mossy  stone  once  mois- 
tened by  my  tears  has  rolled  down  and  choked  its  gushing.  My 
mother  sleeps  by  the  side  of  the  faithful  Peggy,  beneath  a 
willow  that  weeps  over  a  broken  shaft,  —  fitting  monument  fox 
a  broken  heart. 


60  ERNEST     L/NWOOO. 

I  will  not  dwell  on  the  desolation  of  orphanage.  It  cannot 
be  described.  My  Maker  only  knows  the  bitterness  of  my 
grief  for  days,  weeks,  even  months.  But  time  gradually 
warms  the  cold  clay  over  the  grave  of  love ;  then  the  grass 
springs  up,  and  the  flowers  bloom,  and  the  waste  places  of  life 
become  beautiful  with  hope,  and  the  wilderness  blossoms  like 
the  rose. 

But  oh,  my  mother  I  my  gentle,  longsuffering  mother !  thou 
Last  never  been  forgotten.  By  day  and  by  night,  in  sunshine 
and  shadow,  in  joy  and  in  sorrow,  thou  art  with  me,  a  holy 
spirit,  a  hallowed  memory,  a  chastening  influence,  that  passeth 
not  away. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

WHAT  a  change,  from  the  little  gray  cottage  in  the  wooote  to 
the  pillared  walls  of  Grandison  Place. 

This  ancestral  looking  mansion  was  situated  on  the  brow  of 
a  long,  winding  hill,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  loveliest 
valley  in  the  world.  A  hold,  sweeping  outline  of  distant  hills, 
here  and  there  swelling  into  mountains,  and  crowned  with 
j>  deeper,  mistier  blue,  divided  the  rich  green  of  the  earth  from 
the  azure  of  the  heavens.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  it 
beheld  the  wildest  luxuriance  of  nature  refined  and  subdued  by 
the  hand  of  cultivation  and  taste.  Man  had  reverenced  the 
grandeur  of  the  Creator,  and  made  the  ploughshare  turn  aside 
from  the  noble  shade-tree,  and  left  the  streams  rejoicing  in  their 
margins  of  verdure ;  and  far  off,  far  away  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  misty  blue  hills,  —  of  a  paler,  more  leaden  hue,  —  the 
waters  of  the  great  sea  seemed  ready  to  roll  down  on  the  vale, 
that  lay  smiling  before  it. 

Built  of  native  granite,  with  high  massive  walls  and  low 
turreted  roof,  Grandison  Place  rose  above  the  surrounding 
buildings  in  castellated  majesty.  It  stood  in  the  centre  of  a 
spacious  lawn,  zoned  by  a  girdle  of  oaks,  beneath  whose  dense 
shade  the  dew  sparkled  even  at  noonday.  Within  this  zone 
was  a  hedge  of  cedar,  so  smooth,  with  twigs  so  thickly  interwo- 
ven, that  the  gossamer  thought  it  a  framework,  on  which  to 
stretch  its  transparent  web  in  the  morning  sun.  Near  the  house 
the  lawn  was  margined  with  beds  of  the  rarest  and  most  beauti- 
ful flowers,  queen  roses,  and  all  the  fragrant  populace  of  the  floral 
world.  But  the  grandest  and  most  beautiful  feature  of  all  was 
a  magnificent  elm-tree,  standing  right  in  the  centre  of  the  green 

(61) 


62  ERNEST     LINWOJD. 

inclosure,  toweling  upward,  sweeping  downward,  spreading  on 
either  side  its  lordly  branches,  "  from  storms  a  shelter  and  from 
heat  a  shade." 

I  never  saw  so  noble  a  tree.  I  loved  it,  —  I  reverenced  it, 
I  associated  with  it  the  idea  of  strength  and  protection.  Had  I 
eeen  the  woodman's  axe  touch  its  bark,  I  should  have  felt  as  if 
blood  would  stream  from  its  venerable  trunk.  A  circular 
bench  with  a  back  formed  of  boughs  woven  in  checker-work 
surrounded  it,  and  at  twilight  the  soft  sofas  in  the  drawing-room 
wer^  left  vacant  for  this  rustic  seat. 

Kdith  loved  it,  and  when  she  sat  there  with  her  crutches 
leaning  against  the  rough  back,  whose  gray  tint  subdued  tho 
bright  lustre  of  her  golden  hair,  I  would  throw  myself  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet  and  gaze  upon  her,  as  the  embodiment  of 
human  loveliness. 

One  would  suppose  that  I  felt  awkward  and  strange  in  the 
midst  of  such  unaccustomed  magnificence  ;  but  it  was  not  so. 
It  seemed  natural  and  right  for  me  to  be  there.  I  trod  the  soft, 
rich,  velvety  carpeting  with  a  step  as  unembarrassed  as  when  I 
traversed  the  grassy  lawn.  I  was  as  much  at  home  among  the 
splendors  of  art  as  the  beauties  of  nature,  —  both  seemed  my 
birthright. 

I  felt  the  deepest,  most  unbounded  gratitude  for  my  benefac- 
tress ;  but  there  was  nothing  abject  in  it.  I  knew  that  giving 
did  not  impoverish  her ;  that  the  food  I  ate  was  not  as  much  to 
her  as  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  my  mother's  table ;  that  the 
room  I  occupied  was  but  one  in  a  «uite  of  elegant  apartments  ; 
yet  this  did  not  diminisli  my  sense  of  obligation.  It  lightened 
it,  however,  of  its  oppressive  weight. 

My  room  was  next  to  Edith's.  The  only  difference  in  the 
furniture  was  in  the  color  of  the  hangings.  The  curtains  and 
bed  drapery  of  mine  were  pink,  hers  blue.  Both  opened  into 
an  upper  piazza,  whose  lofty  pillars  were  wreathed  with  flower- 
ing vines,  and  crowned  with  Corinthian  capitals.  Surely  my 
iove  for  the  beautiful  ought  to  have  been  satisfied ;  and  so  it 
was,  —  but  it  was  long,  long  before  my  heart  opened  to  receive 
its  influence.  The  clods  that  covered  my  mother's  ashes  laid 
too  heavily  upon  it. 


ERNEST     LI  NTVOOD.  63 

Mrs.  Linwood  had  a  great  deal  of  company  from  the  city, 
which  was  but  a  short  journey  from  Grandison  Place.  As  they 
were  mostly  transient  guests,  I  saw  but  little  of  them.  My 
extreme  youth,  and  deep  mourning  dress,  were  sufficient  rea- 
sons for  withdrawing  from  the  family  circle  when  strangers  en- 
larged it.  Edith  was  three  years  older  than  myself,  and  was 
of  course  expected  to  assist  her  mother  in  the  honors  of  hospi- 
tality. She  loved  society,  moreover,  and  entered  into  its  inno- 
cent pleasures  with  the  delight  of  a  young,  genial  nature.  It 
was  difficult  to  think  of  her  as  a  young  lady,  she  was  so  ex- 
tremely juvenile  in  her  appearance ;  and  her  lameness,  by  giving 
her  an  air  of  childish  dependence,  added  to  the  illusion  caused  by 
her  fair,  clustering  ringlets  and  infantine  rosiness  of  complexion. 
She  wanted  to  bring  me  forward  ;  —  she  coaxed,  caressed,  and 
playfully  threatened,  nor  desisted  till  her  mother  said,  with 
grave  tenderness  — 

"  The  heart  cannot  be  forced,  Edith ;  Gabriella  is  but  a  child, 
and  should  be  allowed  the  freedom  of  a  child.  The  restraints 
of  social  life,  once  assumed,  are  not  easily  thrown  aside.  Let 
her  do  just  as  she  pleases." 

And  so  I  did  ;  and  it  pleased  me  to  wander  about  the  lawn  ; 
to  sit  and  read  under  the  great  elm-tree ;  to  make  garlands  of 
myrtle  and  sweet  running  vine  flowers  for  Edith's  beautiful 
hair  ;  to  walk  the  piazza,  when  moonlight  silvered  the  columns 
and  covered  with  white  glory  the  granite  wails,  while  the  foun- 
tain of  poetry  down  in  the  depths  of  my  soul  welled  and  trem- 
bled in  the  heavenly  lustre. 

It  pleased  me  to  sit  in  the  library,  or  rather  to  stand  and 
move  about  there,  for  at  that  time  I  did  not  like  to  sit  anywhere 
but  on  the  grass  or  the  oaken  bench.  The  old  poets  were 
there  in  rich  binding,  all  the  classics,  and  the  choicest  speci- 
mens of  modern  literature.  There  were  light,  airy,  movable 
steps,  so  as  to  reach  to  the  topmost  shelves,  and  there  I  loved  to 
poise  myself,  like  a  bird  on  the  spray,  peeping  into  this  book 
and  that,  gathering  here  and  there  a  golden  grain  or  sweet 
scer.ted  flower  for  the  garner  of  thought,  or  the  bower  of  imag- 
ination. 


64  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

There  were  statues  in  niches  made  to  receive  them,  —  the 
gods  and  goddesses  of  Greece  and  Rome,  in  their  cold,  severe 
beauty,  all  passionless  and  pure,  in  spite  of  the  glowing  my- 
thology that  called  them  into  existence.  There  were  paintings, 
too,  that  became  a  part  of  my  being,  I  took  them  in  with  such 
intense,  gazing  eyes.  Indeed,  the  house  was  lined  with  them. 
I  could  not  walk  through  a  room  without  stopping  to  admire 
some  work  of  genius,  some  masterpiece  of  art. 

I  overheard  Dr.  Harlowe  say  to  Mrs.  Linwood,  that  it  was  a 
pity  I  were  not  at  school,  I  was  so  very  young.  As  if  I  were 
not  at  school  all  the  time  !  As  if  those  grand  old  books  were 
not  teachers  ;  those  breathing  statues,  those  gorgeous  paintings 
were  not  teachers  ;  as  if  the  noble  edifice  itself,  with  it9 
magnificent  surroundings,  the  billowy  heave  of  the  distant 
mountains,  the  glimpses  of  the  sublime  sea,  the  fair  expanse  of 
the  beautiful  valley,  were  not  teachers  ! 

Oh !  they  little  knew  what  lessons  I  was  learning.  They 
little  knew  how  the  soul  of  the  silent  orphan  girl  was  growing 
within  her,  —  how  her  imagination,  like  flowers,  was  nourished  in 
stillness  and  secrecy  by  the  air  and  the  sunshine,  the  dew  and 
the  shower. 

I  had  other  teachers,  too,  in  the  lonely  churchyard ;  very 
solemn  they  were,  and  gentle  too,  and  I  loved  their  voiceless 
instructions  better  than  the  sounding  eloquence  of  words. 

Mr.  Regulus  thought  with  Dr.  Harlowe,  that  it  was  a  pity  I 
was  not  at  school.  He  called  to  see  Mrs.  Linwood  and  asked 
her  to  use  her  influence  to  induce  me  to  return  as  a  pupil  to  the 
academy.  She  left  it  to  my  decision,  but  I  shrunk  from  the 
thought  of  contact  with  the  rude  village  children.  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  learned  all  Mr.  Regulus  could  teach  me.  I  was  under 
greater  masters  now.  Yet  I  was  grateful  for  the  interest  he 
manifested  in  me.  I  had  no  vindictive  remembrance  of  the 
poem  he  had  so  ruthlessly  murdered.  Innumerable  acts  of 
after  kindness  had  obliterated  the  impression,  or  rather  covered 
it  with  a  growth  of  pleasant  memories. 

"  Have  you  given  up  entirely  the  idea  of  being  a  teacher 
yourself?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  "or  has  the  kindness  of 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  63 

riends  rendered  it  superfluous  ?     I  do  not  ask  from  curiosity 
•ut  a  deep  interest  in  your  future  welfare." 

This  was  a  startling  question.  I  bad  not  thought  of  the  sub- 
ject since  I  had  entered  my  new  home.  Why  should  I  think 
if  *he  drudgery  of  life,  pillowed  on  the  downy  couch  of  luxury 
md  ease  ?  I  was  forgetting  that  I  was  but  the  recipient  of 
another's  bounty,  —  a  guest,  but  not  a  child  of  the  household. 

Low  as  was  his  voice,  I  knew  Mrs.  Linwood  heard  and  un- 
derstood him,  for  her  eyes  rested  on  me  with  a  peculiar  expres- 
sion of  anxiety  and  interest.  She  did  not  speak,  and  I  knew 
not  what  to  utter.  A  burning  glow  rose  to  my  cheeks,  and  my 
heart  fluttered  with  painful  apprehension.  It  was  all  a  dream, 
then.  That  home  of  affluence  was  not  mine,  —  it  was  only  the 
asylum  of  my  first  days  of  orphanage.  The  maternal  tender- 
ness of  Mrs.  Linwood  was  nothing  more  than  compassion  and 
Christian  charity,  and  the  sisterly  affection  of  the  lovely  Edith 
but  the  overflowing  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness.  These  were 
my  first,  flashing  thoughts  ;  then  the  inherent  pride  of  my  na- 
ture rose  to  sustain  me.  I  would  never  be  a  willing  burden  to 
any  one.  I  would  toil  day  and  night,  sooner  than  eat  the  bread 
of  dependence.  It  would  have  been  far  better  to  have  left  me  in 
the  humble  cottage  where  they  found  me,  to  commence  my  life 
of  drudgery  at  once,  than  to  have  given  me  a  taste  of  luxury  and 
affluence,  to  heighten,  by  force  of  contrast,  privation  and  labor. 

"  I  will  commence  teaching  immediately,"  I  answered,  trying 
in  vain  to  speak  with  firmness,  "  if  you  think  I  am  not  too 
young,  and  a  situation  can  be  obtained  ; "  "  that  is,"  I  added,  I 
fear  a  little  proudly,  "  if  Mrs.  Linwood  approve." 

"  It  must  not  be  thought  of  at  present"  she  answered,  speak- 
ing to  Mr.  Regulus.  "  Gabriella  is  too  young  yet  to  assuma 
the  burden  of  authority.  Her  physical  powers  are  still  unde- 
veloped. Besides,  we  shall  pass  the  winter  in  the  metropolis. 
Next  summer  we  will  talk  about  it." 

"  They  speak  of  adding  a  primary  department  to  the  acade- 
my," said  my  former  master,  "  which  will  be  under  female  su- 
perintendence. If  this  is  done,  and  she  would  accept  the  situa- 
tion, I  think  I  have  influence  enough  to  secure  it  for  her." 


66  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"  We  will  see  to  that  hereafter,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood ;  "  but 
of  one  thing  I  am  assured,  if  Gabriella  ever  wishes  to  assume 
duties  so  honorable  and  so  feminine,  she  would  think  it  a  privi- 
lege to  be  under  your  especial  guardianship,  and  within  reach 
of  your  experience  and  counsel." 

I  tried  to  speak,  and  utter  an  assent  to  this  wise  and  decided 
remark,  but  I  could  not.  I  felt  the  tears  gushing  into  my  eyes, 
and  hastily  rising,  I  left  the  room.  I  did  not  go  out  on  the 
lawn,  for  I  saw  Edith's  white  robes  under  the  trees,  and  I  knew 
the  guests  of  the  city  were  with  her.  I  ran  up  stairs  to  my  own 
apartment,  or  that  which  was  called  mine,  and,  sitting  down  in 
an  embrasure  of  the  window,  drew  aside  the  rosy  damask  and 
gazed  around  me. 

Do  not  judge  me  too  harshly.  I  was  ungrateful ;  I  knew  1 
was.  My  heart  rose  against  Mrs.  Linwood  for  her  cold  de- 
cision. I  forgot,  for  the  moment,  her  holy  ministrations  to  my 
dying  mother,  her  care  and  protection  of  me,  when  left  desolate 
and  alone.  I  forgot  that  I  had  no  claims  on  her  beyond  what 
her  compassion  granted.  I  realized  all  at  once  that  I  was  poor 
and  dependent,  though  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  wealth. 

In  justice  to  myself  I  must  say,  that  the  bitterest  tears  I  then 
ehed  were  caused  by  disappointment  in  Mrs.  Linwood's  exalted 
character.  I  had  imagined  her  "  bounty  as  boundless  as  the 
eca,  her  love  as  deep."  Now  the  noble  proportion  of  her  vir- 
tues p^emed  dwarfed,  their  luxuriance  stinted,  and  withering 
too. 

While  I  was  thus  cheating  my  benefactress  of  her  fair  per- 
fections, she  came  in  with  her  usual  quiet  and  stilly  step,  and 
sat  down  beside  me.  The  consciousness  of  what  was  passing 
in  my  mind,  made  the  guilty  blood  rush  warm  to  my  face. 

"  You  have  been  weeping,  Gabriella,"  she  said,  in  gentle  ac- 
cents; "jour  feelings  are  wounded,  you  think  me  cold,  perhaps 
unkind." 

"  Oh,  madam,  what  have  I  said  ?  " 

"  j>  othing,  my  dear  child,  and  yet  I  have  read  every  thing. 
Your  ingenuous  countenance  expressed  on  my  entrance  as 
nlai"?  is  words  could  utter,  '  Hate  me,  for  I  am  an  ingrate.'  * 


LIN  WOOD.  67 

"You  do,  indeed,  read  very  closely." 

"  Could  you  look  as  closely  into  my  heart,  Gabriella,  were  my 
face  as  transparent  as  yours,  you  would  understand  at  once  my 
apparent  coldness  as  anxiety  for  your  highest  good.  Did  I 
consult  my  own  pleasure,  without  regard  to  that  discipline  by 
which  the  elements  of  character  are  wrought  into  beauty  and 
fitness,  I  should  cherish  no  wish  but  to  see  you  ever  near  me  as 
now,  indulging  the  sweet  dreams  of  youth,  only  the  more  fas- 
cinating for  being  shadowed  with  melancholy.  I  would  save 
you,  if  possible,  from  becoming  the  victim  of  a  diseased  imag- 
ination, or  too  morbid  a  sensibility." 

I  looked  up,  impressed  with  her  calm,  earnest  tones,  and  as  I 
listened,  conscience  upbraided  me  with  injustice  and  ingrati- 
tude. 

"  There  is  a  period  in  every  young  girl's  life,  my  dear  Gabri- 
ella, when  she  is  in  danger  of  becoming  a  vain  and  idle 
dreamer,  when  the  amusements  of  childhood  have  ceased  to 
interest,  and  the  shadow  of  woman's  destiny  involves  the  pleas- 
ures of  youth.  The  mind  is  occupied  with  vague  imaginings, 
the  heart  with  restless  cravings  for  unknown  blessings.  With 
your  vivid  imagination  and  deep  sensibility,  your  love  of  reverie 
and  abstraction,  there  is  great  danger  of  your  yielding  uncon- 
sciously to  habits  the  more  fatal  in  their  influence,  because  ap- 
parently as  innocent  as  they  are  insidious  and  pernicious.  A 
life  of  active  industry  and  usefulness  is  the  only  safeguard  from 
temptation  and  sin." 

Oh,  how  every  true  word  she  uttered  ennobled  her  in  my 
estimation,  while  it  humbled  myself.  Idler  that  I  was  in  my 
Father's  vineyard,  I  was  holding  out  my  hands  for  the  cluster- 
ing grapes,  whose  purple  juice  is  for  him  who  treadeth  the 
wine-press. 

"  Were  my  own  Edith  physically  strong,"  she  added,  "  I 
would  ask  no  nobler  vocation  for  her  than  the  one  suggested  to 
you  this  day.  I  should  rejoice  to  see  her  passing  through  a 
discipline  so  chastening  and  exalting.  I  should  rejoice  to  see 
her  exercising  the  faculties  which  God  has  given  her  for  the 
benefit  of  her  kind.  The  possession  oi'  wealth  does  not  exempt 
5 


68  ERNESTHNWOOD. 

one  from  the  active  duties  of  life,  from  self-sacrifice,  industry 
and  patient  continuance  in  well-doing.  The  little  I  have  done 
for  you,  all  that  I  can  do,  is  but  a  drop  from  the  fountain,  and 
were  it  ten  times  more  would  never  be  missed.  It  is  not  that  I 
would  give  less,  but  I  would  require  more.  While  I  live,  this 
shall  ever  be  your  home,  where  you  shall  feel  a  mother's  care, 
protection,  and  tenderness ;  but  I  want  you  to  form  habits  of 
self-reliance,  independence,  and  usefulness,  which  will  remain 
your  friends,  though  other  friends  should  be  taken  from  you." 

Dear,  excellent  Mrs.  Linwood!  how  my  proud,  rebellious 
heart  melted  before  her!  What  resolutions  I  formed  to  be 
always  governed  by  her  influence,  and  guided  by  her  counsels! 
How  vividly  her  image  rises  before  me,  as  she  then  looked,  in 
her  customary  dress  of  pale,  silver  gray,  her  plain  yet  graceful 
lace  cap,  simply  parted  hair,  and  calm,  benevolent  countenance. 

She  was  the  most  unpretending  of  human  beings.  She  moved 
about  the  house  with  a  step  as  stilly  as  the  falling  dews.  In- 
deed, such  was  her  walk  through  life.  She  seemed  born  to 
teach  mankind  unostentatious  charity.  Yet,  under  this  mild, 
calm  exterior,  she  had  a  strong,  controlling  will,  which  all 
around  her  felt  and  acknowledged.  From  the  moment  she 
drew  the  fan  from  my  hand,  at  my  mother's  bedside,  to  the 
hour  I  left  her  dwelling,  she  acted  upon  me  with  a  force  power- 
ful as  the  sun,  and  as  benignant  too. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

IF  I  do  not  pass  more  rapidly  over  these  early  scenes,  I  shall 
never  finish  my  book. 

Book! — am  I  writing  a  book  ?  No,  indeed  !  This  is  only 
a  record  of  my  heart's  life,  written  at  random  and  carelessly 
thrown  aside,  sheet  after  sheet,  sibylline  leaves  from  the  great 
book  of  fate.  The  wind  may  blow  them  away,  a  spark  con- 
sume them.  I  may  myself  commit  them  to  the  flames.  I  am 
tempted  to  do  so  at  this  moment. 

I  once  thought  it  a  glorious  thing  to  be  an  author,  —  to  touch 
the  electric  wire  of  sentiment,  and  know  that  thousands  would 
thrill  at  the  shock,  —  to  speak,  and  believe  that  unborn  millions 
would  hear  the  music  of  those  echoing  words,  —  to  possess  the 
wand  of  the  enchanter,  the  ring  of  the  genii,  the  magic  key  to 
the  temple  of  temples,  the  pass-word  to  the  universe  of  mind. 
I  once  had  such  visions  as  these,  but  they  are  passed. 

To  touch  the  electric  wire,  and  feel  the  bolt  scathing  one's 
own  brain,  —  to  speak,  to  hear  the  dreary  echo  of  one's  voice 
return  through  the  desert  waste,  —  to  enter  the  temple  and  find 
nothing  but  ruins  and  desolation,  —  to  lay  a  sacrifice  on  the 
altar,  and  see  no  fire  from  heaven  descend  in  token  of  accept- 
ance, —  to  stand  the  priestess  of  a  lonely  shrine,  uttering  ora- 
cles to  the  unheeding  wind,  —  is  not  such  too  often  the  doom  of 
those  who  have  looked  to  fame  as  their  heritage,  believing 
gfyiius  their  dower  ? 

Heaven  save  me  from  such  a  destiny.  Better  the  daily  task, 
the  measured  duty,  the  chained-down  spirit,  the  girdled  heart. 

A  year  after  Mrs.  Linwood  pointed  out  to  me  the  path  of 
duty,  I  began  to  walk  in  it.  I  have  passed  the  winter  in  the 


70  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

city,  but  it  was  one  of  deep  seclusion  to  me.  I  welcomed  with 
rapture  our  return  to  the  country,  and  had  so  far  awakened 
from  dream-life,  as  to  prepare  myself  with  steadiness  of  pur- 
pose for  the  realities  of  my  destiny. 

Edith  rebelled  against  her  mother's  decision.  There  was 
no  need  of  such  a  thing.  I  was  too  young,  too  delicate,  too 
sensitive  for  so  rough  a  task.  There  was  a  plenty  of  robust 
country  girls  to  assist  Mr.  Regulus,  if  he  wanted  them  to,  with- 
out depriving  her  of  her  companion  and  sister.  She  appealed 
to  Dr.  Harlowe,  in  her  sweet,  bewitching  way,  which  always 
seemed  irresistible  ;  but  he  only  gave  her  a  genial  smile,  called 
me  ''  a  brave  little  girl,"  and  bade  me  "  God  speed."  "  I  wish 
Richard  Clyde  were  here,"  said  she,  in  her  own  artless,  half- 
childish  manner,  "  I  am  sure  he  would  be  on  my  side.  I  wish 
brother  Ernest  would  come  home,  he  would  decide  the  question. 
Oh,  Gabriella,  if  you  only  knew  brother  Ernest !  " 

If  I  have  not  mentioned  this  brother  Ernest  before,  it  is  not 
because  I  had  not  heard  his  name  repeated  a  thousand  times 
He  was  the  only  son  and  brother  of  the  family,  who,  having 
graduated  with  the  first  honors  at  the  college  of  his  native 
State,  was  completing  his  education  in  Germany,  at  the  cele- 
brated University  of  Gottingen.  There  was  a  picture  of  him 
in  the  library,  taken  just  before  he  left  the  country,  on  which 
I  had  gazed,  till  it  was  to  me  a  living  being.  It  was  a  dark, 
fascinating  face,  —  a  face  half  of  sunshine  and  half  shadow,  a 
face  of  mysterious  meanings ;  as  different  from  Edith's  as 
night  from  morning.  It  reminded  me  of  the  head  of  Byron, 
but  it  expressed  deeper  sensibility,  and  the  features  were  even 
more  symmetrically  handsome. 

Edith,  who  was  as  frank  and  artless  as  a  child,  was  always 
talking  of  her  brother,  of  his  brilliant  talents,  his  genius,  and 
peculiarities.  She  showed  me  his  letters,  which  were  written 
with  extraordinary  beauty  and  power,  though  the  sentiments 
were  somewhat  obscured  by  a  transcendental  mistiness  belong- 
ing to  the  atmosphere  he  breathed. 

"  Ernest  never  was  like  anybody  else,"  said  Edith ;  "  he  ia 
the  most  singular,  but  the  most  fascinating  of  human  beings.  Oh, 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  71 

Gabriella,  I  long  to  have  him  come  back,  that  you  may  know 
and  admire  him." 

Though  I  knew  by  ten  thousand  signs  that  this  absent  son  was 
the  first  object  of  Mrs.  Linwood's  thoughts,  she  seldom  talked 
of  him  to  me.  She  often,  when  Edith  was  indulging  in  her 
enthusiastic  descriptions  of  him,  endeavored  to  change  the 
conversation  and  turn  my  thoughts  in  other  channels. 

But  why  do  I  speak  of  Ernest  Linwood  here  ?  It  is  prema- 
ture. I  was  about  to  describe  a  little  part  of  my  experience 
as  a  village  teacher. 

Edith  had  a  beautiful  little  pony,  gentle  as  a  lamb,  yet  very 
spirited  withal,  (for  lame  though  she  was,  she  was  a  graceful  and 
fearless  equestrian,)  which  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  ride 
every  morning,  escorted  by  a  servant,  who  carried  the  pony  back 
for  Edith's  use.  Dr.  Harlowe,  who  resided  near  the  academy,  said 
1  was  always  to  dine  at  his  house,  and  walk  home  in  the  even- 
ing. They  must  not  make  too  much  of  a  fine  lady  of  me.  I 
must  exercise,  if  I  would  gather  the  roses  of  health.  Surely 
no  young  girl  could  begin  the  ordeal  of  duty  under  kinder, 
more  favoring  auspices. 

After  the  first  dreaded  morning  when  Mr.  Regulus,  tall, 
stately,  and  imposing,  ushered  me  into  the  apartment  where  I 
was  to  preside  with  delegated  authority,  led  me  up  a  low 
flight  of  steps  and  waved  his  hand  towards  a  high  magisterial 
arm-chair  which  was  to  be  my  future  throne,  I  felt  a  degree 
of  self-confidence  that  surprised  and  encouraged  me.  Every 
thing  was  so  novel,  so  fresh,  it  imparted  an  elasticity  to  my 
spirits  I  had  not  felt  in  Mrs.  Linwood's  luxurious  home.  Then 
there  was  something  self-sustaining,  inspiring  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  intellectual  exertion  and  moral  courage,  in  the  thought 
that  I  was  doing  some  little  good  in  the  world,  that  I  was  secur- 
ing the  approbation  of  Mrs.  Linwood  and  of  the  excellent  Dr- 
Harlowe.  The  children,  who  had  most  of  them  been  my  felkm 
pupils,  looked  upon  Gabriella  Lynn,  the  protegee  of  the  rich 
Mrs.  Liuwood,  as  a  different  being  from  Gabriella  Lynn  of  the 
little  gray  cottage  in  the  woods.  I  have  no  doubt  they  thought 
it  very  grand  to  ride  on  that  beautiful  pony,  with  its  saddle-cloth 


72  ERNEST    I.  IN  WOOD. 

»f  blue  and  silver,  and  glittering  martingale,  escorted  by  a  ser- 
vant too!  Had  they  been  disposed  to  rebel  at  my  authority, 
they  would  not  have  dared  to  do  so,  for  Mr.  Regulus,  jealous 
for  my  new  dignity,  watched  over  it  with  an  eagle  eye. 

Where  were  the  chains,  whose  prophetic  clanking  had  chilled 
my  misgiving  heart?  They  were  transformed  to  flowery  gar- 
lands, of  daily  renewing  fragrance  and  bloom.  My  de.sk  was 
literally  covered  with  blossoms  while  their  season  lasted,  and 
little  fairy  fingers  were  always  twining  with  wreaths  the  dark  hair 
they  loved  to  arrange  according  to  their  own  juvenile  fancies. 

My  noon  hours  at  Dr.  Harlowe's,  were  pleasant  episodes  in 
my  daily  life.  Mrs.  Harlowe  was  an  excellent  woman.  She 
was  called  by  the  villagers  "  a  most  superior  woman,"  —  and 
so  she  was,  if  admirable  housekeeping  and  devotion  to  her 
husband's  interests  entitled  her  to  the  praise.  She  was  al \vays 
busy ;  but  the  doctor,  though  he  had  a  wide  sweep  of  practice 
in  the  surrounding  country,  always  seemed  at  leisure.  There 
was  something  so  cheerful,  so  encouraging  about  him,  despond- 
ency fled  from  his  presence  and  gave  place  to  hope. 

I  love  to  recall  this  era  of  my  life.  If  I  have  known  deeper 
happiness,  more  exalted  raptures,  they  were  dearly  purchased 
by  the  sacrifice  of  the  peace,  the  salubrity  of  mind  I  then 
enjoyed.  I  had  a  little  room  of  my  own  there,  where  I  was  as 
much  at  home  as  I  was  at  Mrs.  Linwood's.  There  was  a 
place  for  my  bonnet  and  parasol,  a  shelf  for  my  books,  a  low 
rocking-chair  placed  at  the  pleasantest  window  for  me ;  and, 
knowing  Mrs.  Harlowe's  methodical  habits,  I  was  always  care- 
ful to  leave  every  thing,  as  I  found  it,  in  Quaker-like  order. 
This  was  the  smallest  return  I  could  make  for  her  hospitality, 
and  she  appreciated  it  far  beyond  its  merits.  The  good  doctor, 
with  all  his  virtues,  tried  the  patience  of  his  wife  sometimes 
beyond  its  limits,  by  his  excessive  carelessness.  He  would 
forget  to  hang  his  hat  in  the  hall,  and  toss  it  on  the  bright,  pol- 
ished mahogany  table.  He  would  forget  to  use  the  scraper  by 
the  steps,  or  the  mat  by  the  door,  and  leave  tracks  on  the 
clean  floor  or  nice  carpet.  These  little  things  really  worried 
her ;  I  could  see  they  did.  She  never  said  any  thing ;  but  she 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  73 

would  get  up,  take  up  the  hat,  brush  the  table  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, and  hang  the  hat  in  its  right  place,  or  send  the  house- 
gui  with  the  broom  after  his  disfiguring  tracks. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear,"  he  would  say  with  imperturbable 
good-nature,  — "  really,  I  am  too  forgetful.  I  must  have  a 
self-regulating  machine  attached  to  my  movements,  —  a  porta- 
ble duster  and  hat-catcher.  But,  the  blessed  freedom  of  home. 
It  constitutes  half  its  joy.  Dear  me  !  I  would  not  exchange 
the  privilege  of  doing  as  I  please  for  the  emperorship  of  the 
celestial  realms." 

But,  pleasant  as  were  my  noon  rests,  my  homeward  walks 
were  pleasanter  still.  The  dream-girl,  after  being  awake  for 
long  hours  to  the  practical  duties  of  lii'e,  loved  to  ramble  alone, 
till  she  felt  herself  involved  in  the  soft  haziness  of  thought, 
which  was  to  the  soul  what  the  blue  mistiness  was  to  the  distant 
hills.  I  could  wander  then  alone  to  the  churchyard,  and  yield 
myself  unmolested  to  the  sacred  influences  of  memory.  Do  you 
remember  my  asking  Richard  Clyde  to  plant  a  white  rose  by 
my  mother's  grave  ?  He  had  done  so,  soon  after  her  burial, 
and  now,  when  rather  more  than  a  year  had  passed,  it  was  put- 
ting forth  fair  buds  and  blossoms,  and  breathing  of  renovation 
over  the  ruins  of  life.  I  never  saw  this  rose-tree  without 
blessing  the  hand  which  planted  it ;  and  I  loved  to  sit  on  the 
waving  grass  and  listen  to  the  soft  summer  wind  stealing 
through  it,  rustling  among  the  dry  blades  and  whispering  with 
the  green  ones. 

There  was  one  sentence  that  fell  from  my  mother's  dying 
lips  which  ever  came  to  me  in  the  sighs  of  the  gale,  fraught  with 
mournful  mystery.  "  Because  man  was  false,  I  dared  to  think 
God  was  unjust."  And  had  she  not  adjured  me  by  every 
precious  and  every  solemn  consideration,  "  to  forgive  the  living, 
if  living  he  indeed  was  ?  " 

I  knew  these  words  referred  to  my  father ;  and  what  a  his- 
tory of  wrong  and  sorrow  was  left  for  rny  imagination  to  fill 
up!  Living!  —  my  father  living!  Oh!  there  is  no  grave  so 
deep  as  that  dug  by  the  hand  of  neglect  or  desertion !  He  had 
been  dead  to  my  mother,  —  he  had  been  dead  to  me.  I  shud- 


74  ERNEST    I.  INWOOD. 

dered  at  the  thought  of  breathing  the  same  vital  element.  He 
•who  had  broken  a  mother's  heart  must  be  a  fiend,  worthy  of 
eternal  abhorrence. 

"If  you  live  to  years  of  womanhood,"  said  my  expiring 
mother,  "  and  your  heart  awakens  to  love,  as  alas  for  woman's 
destiny  it  will,  then  read  my  life's  sad  experience,  and  bo 
warned  by  my  example." 

Sad  prophetess  !  Death  has  consecrated  thy  prediction,  but 
it  is  yet  unfulfilled.  When  will  womanhood  commence,  on 
whose  horizon  the  morning  star  of  love  is  to  rise  in  clouded 
lustre  ? 

Surely  I  am  invested  vith  a  woman's  dignity,  in  that  great 
arm-chair,  behind  the  green-covered  desk.  I  feel  very  much 
like  a  blown  rose,  surrounded  by  the  rose-bud  garland  of  child' 
hood.  Yet  Dr.  Harlowe  calls  me  "  little  girl,"  and  Mr.  Regu- 
lus  "  my  child,"  when  the  pupils  are  not  by  ;  then  it  is  "  Mi.-v3 
Gabriella."  They  forget  that  I  am  sixteen,  and  that  I  have 
grown  taller  and  more  womanly  in  the  last  year  ;  but  the  aw?**, 
ening  heart  has  not  yet  throbbed  at  its  dawning  4o-,tiny,  f  IB 
day  star  of  love  has  not  risen  on  its  slumbers. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  I  WISH  you  had  a  vacation  too,"  said  Richard  Clyde,  as  we 
ascended  together  the  winding  hill. 

"Then  we  should  not  have  these  pleasant  walks,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  Why  not  f  " 

"  Why,  I  should  not  be  returning  from  school  at  this  hour 
every  day,  and  you  would  not  happen  to  overtake  me  as  you  do 
now." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  accident,  Gabriella  ?  How  do  you 
know  but  I  wander  about  the  woods,  a  restless  ghost,  till  glad 
ringing  voices  chiming  together,  announce  that  you  are  free, 
and  that  I  am  at  liberty  to  play  guardian  and  knight,  as  I  did 
three  or  four  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Because  you  would  not  waste  your  time  so  foolishly,  and 
because  I  do  not  need  a  guardian  now.  I  am  in  authority,  you 
know,  and  no  one  molests  or  makes  me  afraid." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  need  a  guardian  more  than  ever,  and  I 
shall  remain  true  to  my  boyish  allegiance." 

Richard  always  had  a  gay,  dashing  way  of  talking,  and  his 
residence  in  college  had  certainly  not  subdued  the  gay  spirit  of 
chivalry  that  sparkled  in  his  eye.  He  had  grown  much  taller 
since  I  had  seen  him  last,  his  face  was  more  intellectual  and 
altogether  improved,  and  his  dress  was  elegantly,  though  not 
foppishly,  fashionable.  He  was  an  exceedingly  agreeable  com- 
panion. Even  when  I  was  most  sh)  and  sensitive,  I  felt  at 
ease  with  him.  When  I  say  that  I  looked  upon  him  something 
as  an  elder  brother,  I  mean  what  I  express,  —  not  the  sickly 
affectation  with  which  young  girls  sometimes  strive  to  hide  a 
deeper  feeling,  —  I  remembered  his  steady  school-boy  friend- 
ship, his  sympathy  in  the  dark  days  of  anguish  and  despair,  and 

(75) 


76  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

more  than  all,  the  rose,  the  sacred  rose  he  had  planted  at  my 
mother's  grave. 

I  thanked  him  for  this,  with  a  choking  voice  and  a  moistened 
eye. 

" Do  not  thank  me,"  said  he ;  "I  had  a  mother  once,  —  she, 
too,  is  gone.  The  world  may  contain  for  us  many  friends,  but 
never  but  one  mother,  Gabriella.  I  was  only  ten  years  old 
when  mine  was  taken  from  me,  but  her  influence  is  around  me 
still,  a  safeguard  and  a  blessing." 

Words  so  full  of  feeling  and  reverence  were  more  impressive 
falling  from  lips  usually  sparkling  with  gaiety  and  wit.  "We 
walked  in  silence  up  the  gradual  ascent,  till  we  came  to  a  fine 
old  elm,  branching  out  by  the  way-side,  and  we  paused  to  rest 
under  its  boughs.  As  we  did  so,  we  turned  towards  the  valley 
we  were  leaving  behind,  and  beheld  it  stretching,  a  magnificent 
panorama,  to  the  east  and  the  west,  the  north  and  the  south, 
wearing  every  shade  of  green,  from  the  deep,  rich  hue  of  the 
stately  corn  to  the  brighter  emerald  of  the  oat  fields,  and  the 
dazzling  verdure  of  the  pasture-land  ;  and  over  all  this  glowing 
landscape  the  golden  glory  of  approaching  sunset  hung  like  a 
royal  canopy,  whose  purple  fringes  rested  on  the  distant  moun- 
tains. 

"  How  beautiful ! "  I  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  he  echoed  with  equal  fervor. 

"  You  are  but  mocking  my  words,  Richard,  —  you  are  not 
looking  r.t  the  enchanting  prospect." 

"  Yes,  I  am,  —  a  very  enchanting  one." 

"  How  foolish ! "  I  cried,  for  I  could  not  but  understand  the 
emphasis  of  his  smiling  glance. 

"  Why  am  I  more  foolish  in  admiring  one  beautiful  prospect 
than  you  another,  Gabri-  -lla  ?  You  solicited  my  admiration  for 
one  charming  view,  while  my  eyes  were  riveted  on  another.  If 
we  are  both  sincere,  we  are  equally  wise." 

"  But  it  seems  so  unnecessary  to  take  the  pains  to  compli- 
ment me,  whfn  you  know  me  so  well,  and  when  I  know  myself 
so  well  too." 

*  I  doubt  your  self-knowledge  very  much.    I  do  not  believe, 


ERNESTLINWOOD.  77 

in  the  first  place,  that  you  are  aware  how  wonderfully  you  are 
improved.  You  do  not  look  the  same  girl  you  did  a  year  ago. 
You  have  grown  taller,  fairer,  brighter,  Gabriella.  I  did  not 
expect  to  see  this,  when  I  heard  you  had  shut  yourself  up  in 
the  academy  again,  under  the  shadow  of  old  Regulus's  beetling 
brows." 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  not  old,  Richard ;  he  is  in  the  very  prime 
of  manhood." 

"  AVell,  Professor  Regulus,  then.  We  boys  have  a  habit  of 
speaking  of  our  teachers  in  this  way.  I  know  it  is  a  bad  one, 
but  we  all  fall  into  it.  All  our  college  professors  have  a  meta- 
phorical name,  with  the  venerable  epithet  attached  to  it,  which 
you  condemn. 

"  I  do  not  like  it  at  all ;  it  sounds  so  disrespectful,  and,  par- 
don me  for  saying  it,  even  coarse." 

"  You  have  a  great  respect  for  Mr.  Regulus." 

"  I  have ;  he  is  one  of  my  best  friends." 

"  I  dare  say  he  is ;  I  should  like  to  be  in  his  place.  You 
have  another  great  friend,  old  Dr.  Harlowe." 

"  There,  again.  Why,  Dr.  Harlowe  is  almost  young,  at 
least  very  far  from  being  old.  He  is  one  of  the  finest  looking 
men  I  ever  saw,  and  one  of  the  best.  You  college  students 
must  be  a  very  presuming  set  of  young  men." 

I  spoke  gravely,  for  I  was  really  vexed  that  any  one  whom  I 
esteemed  as  much  as  1  did  Richard,  should  adopt  the  vulgarisms 
he  once  despised. 

"  We  are  a  barbarous,  rude  set,"  he  answered  with  redeem- 
ing frankness.  "  We  show  exactly  what  a  savage  man  is  and 
would  ever  be,  without  the  refining  influence  of  women.  If  it 
were  not  for  our  vacations,  we  would  soon  get  beyond  the  reach 
of  civilization.  Be  not  angry  with  my  roughness,  most  gentle 
Gabriella.  Pass  over  it  your  smoothing  touch,  and  it  shall 
have  the  polish  of  marble,  without  its  coldness." 

We  had  resumed  our  walk,  and  the  granite  walls  of  Grand! 
son  Place  began  to  loom  up  above  the  surrounding  shade. 

"  That  is  a  noble  mansion,"  said  he.  •'  How  admirably  such  a 
residence  must  harmonize  with  your  high,  romantic  thoughts 


78  ERNEST     LI  NTVOOD. 

But  there  is  one  thing  that  impresses  me  with  wonder,  —  tl  » 
Mrs*.  Linwood,  so  rich,  so  liberal  too,  with  only  one  daughter, 
should  allow  you,  her  adopted  child,  to  devote  your  young  hours, 
to  the  drudgery  of  teaching.  It  seems  so  unnecessary,  so  in- 
consistent with  her  usual  munificence  of  action." 

The  glow  of  wounded  pride  warmed  my  cheek.  I  had  be- 
come happy  in  my  vocation,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  it 
depreciated,  nor  the  motives  of  my  benefactress  misunderstood 
and  misrepresented. 

"  Mrs.  Linwood  is  as  wise  as  she  is  kind,"  I  answered,  hastily. 
u  It  is  my  happiness  and  good  she  consults,  not  her  own  pleasure. 
Giving  does  not  impoverish  either  her  ample  purse  or  her 
generous  heart.  She  knows  my  nature,  knows  that  I  could 
not  bear  the  stagnation  of  a  life  of  luxurious  ease." 

"  Edith  can,  —  why  not  you  ?  " 

"  "We  are  so  different.  She  was  born  for  the  position  she 
occupies.  She  is  one  of  the  lilies  of  the  valley,  that  toil  not, 
neither  do  they  spin,  yet  they  fulfil  a  lovely  mission.  Do  not 
try  to  make  me  discontented  with  a  lot,  so  full  of  blessings, 
Richard.  Surely  no  orphan  girl  was  ever  more  tenderly  cher- 
ished, more  abundantly  cared  for." 

"  Discontented  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  heaven  forbid  !  I  must  be 
a  wretched  blunderer.  I  am  saying  something  wrong  all  the 
time,  with  a  heart  full  of  most  excellent  intentions.  Discon- 
tented !  no,  indeed ;  I  have  only  the  unfortunate  habit  of  speak- 
ing before  I  think.  I  shall  grow  wiser  as  I  grow  older,  I 
trust." 

He  reached  up  to  a  branch  that  bent  over  the  way-side,  and 
breaking  it  off,  began  to  stop  it  of  its  green  leaves  and  scatter 
them  in  the  path. 

"  You  do  not  think  me  angry,  Richard  ?  "  I  asked,  catching 
some  of  the  leaves,  before  they  fell  to  the  ground.  "  I  once  felt 
all  that  you  express  ;  and  I  was  doubly  wrong  ;  I  was  guilty  of 
ingratitude,  you  only  of  thoughtlessness." 

"  When  does  Mrs.  Linwood  expect  her  son  ? "  lie  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Next  summer,  I  believe ;  I  do  not  exactly  know." 


/B  NEST     LINWOOD.  79 

"  He  will  take  strong  hold  of  your  poetic  imagination. 
There  is  something  'grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar'  about  him; 
a  mystery  of  reserve,  which  oft  amounts  to  haughtiness.  I  am 
but  very  little  acquainted  with  him,  and  probably  never  shall  be. 
Should  we  chance  to  meet  in  society,  we  would  be  two  parallel 
lines,  never  uniting,  however  near  we  might  approach.  Be- 
sides, he  is  a  number  of  years  older  than  myself." 

"  I  suppose  you  call  him  old  Mr.  Linwood,"  said  I,  laughing. 

We  had  now  entered  the  gate,  and  met  Mrs.  Linwood  and 
Edith  walking  in  the  avenue,  if  Edith  could  be  said  to  walk, 
borne  on  as  she  was  by  her  softly  falling  crutches.  She  looked 
so  exceedingly  lovely,  I  wondered  that  Richard  did  not  burst 
forth  in  expressions  of  irrepressible  admiration.  I  was  never 
weary  of  gazing  on  her  beauty.  Even  after  an  absence  of  a 
few  hours,  it  dawned  upon  me  with  new  lustre,  like  that  of  the 
rising  day.  I  wondered  that  any  one  ever  looked  at  any  one 
else  in  her  presence.  As  for  myself,  I  felt  annihilated  by  her 
dazzling  fairness,  as  the  little  star  is  absorbed  by  the  resplen- 
dent moon. 

Strange,  all  beautiful  as  she  was  she  did  not  attract,  as  one 
would  suppose,  the  admiration  of  the  other  sex.  Perhaps  there 
was  something  cold  and  shadowy  in  the*  ethereality  of  her  love- 
liness, a  want  of  sympathy  with  man's  more  earthly,  passionate 
nature.  It  is  very  certain,  the  beauty  which  woman  most  ad- 
mires often  falls  coldly  on  the  gaze  of  man.  Edith  had  the  face 
of  an  angel ;  but  hers  was  not  the  darkening  eye  and  chang- 
ing cheek  that  "  pale  passion  loves."  Did  the  sons  of  God 
come  down  to  earth,  as  they  did  in  olden  time,  to  woo  the 
daughters  of  men,  they  might  have  sought  her  as  their  bride. 
She  was  not  cold,  however ;  she  was  not  passionless.  She  had 
a  woman's  heart,  formed  to  enshrine  an  idol  of  clay,  believing  it 
imperishable  as  its  own  love. 

Mrs.  Linwood  gave  Richard  a  cordial  greeting.  I  had  an 
unaccountable  fear  that  she  would  not  be  pleased  that  he  es- 
corted me  home  so  frequently,  though  this  was  the  first  time  he 
had  accompanied  me  to  the  lawn.  She  urged  him  to  remain 
and  pass  *iie  evening,  or  rather  asked  him,  for  he  required  no 


80  KRNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

urging.  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  a  happy  one  is>  him. 
Edith  played  upon  her  harp,  which  had  been  newly  strung. 
She  seemed  the  very  personification  of  one  of  Ossian's  blue-eyed 
maids,  with  her  white,  rising  hands,  and  long,  floating  locks. 

I  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  had  my  talent  been  ear- 
ly cultivated  I  would  doubtless  hr.ve  excelled.  I  cared  not  much 
about  the  piano,  but  there  was  inspiration  in  the  very  sight  of 
a  harp.  In  imagination  I  was  Corinna,  improvising  the  impas- 
sioned strains  of  Italy,  or  a  Sappho,  breathing  out  my  soul,  like 
the  dying  swan,  in  strains  of  thrilling  melody.  Edith  was  a  St. 
Cecilia.  Had  my  hand  swept  the  chords,  the  hearts  of  mortals 
would  have  vibrated  at  the  touch ;  she  touched  the  divine  string, 
and  "  called  angels  down." 

When  I  retired  that  night  and  saw  the  reflection  of  myself 
full  length,  in  the  large  pier-glass,  between  the  rosy  folds  of  the 
sweeping  damask,  I  could  not  help  recalling  what  Richard  Clyde 
had  said  of  my  personal  improvement.  Was  he  sincere,  when 
with  apparent  enthusiasm  he  had  applied  to  me  the  epithet, 
beautiful  ?  No,  he  could  not  be  ;  and  yet  his  eyes  had  empha- 
sized the  language  of  his  lips. 

I  was  not  vain.  Few  young  girls  ever  thought  less  of  their 
personal  appearance.  I  lived  so  much  in  the  world  within,  that 
I  gave  but  little  heed  to  the  fashion  of  my  outward  form.  It 
seemed  so  poor  an  expression  of  the  glowing  heart,  the  heaven- 
born  soul. 

For  the  first  time  I  looked  upon  myself  with  reference  to 
the  eyes  of  others,  and  I  tried  to  imagine  the  youthful  figure 
on  which  I  gazed  as  belonging  to  another,  and  not  myself. 
Were  the  outlines  softened  by  the  dark-flowing  sable,  classic 
and  graceful  ?  Was  there  beauty  in  the  oval  cheek,  now 
wearing  the  warm  bloom  of  the  brunette,  or  the  dark,  long- 
lashed  eye,  which  drooped  with  the  burden  of  unuttered 
thoughts  ? 

As  I  asked  myself  these  questions,  I  smiled  at  my  folly; 
and  as  the  image  smiled  back  upon  the  original,  there  was  such 
a  light,  such  a  glow,  such  a  living  soul  passed  before  me, 
that  for  one  moment  a  triumphant  consciousness  swellud  my 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  81 

bosom,  a  new  revelation  beamed  on  my  understanding,  —  the 
consciousness  of  woman's  hitherto  unknown  power,  —  the  revel 
ation  of  woman's  destiny. 

And  connected  with  this,  there  came  the  remembrance  of 
that  haunting  face  in  the  library,  which  I  had  only  seen  on 
canvas,  but  which  was  to  me  a  breathing  reality,  —  that  face 
which,  even  on  the  cold,  silent  wall,  had  no  repose  ;  but  dark, 
restless,  and  impassioned,  was  either  a  history  of  past  disappoint- 
ment, or  a  prophecy  of  future  suffering. 

The  moment  of  triumph  was  brief.  A  pale  shadow  seemed 
to  flit  behind  me  and  dim  the  bright  image  reflected  in  the 
mirror.  It  wore  the  sad,  yet  lovely  lineaments  of  my  departed 
mother. 

0  how  vain  were  youth  and  beauty,  if  thus  they  faded  and 
vanished  away !  How  mournful  was  love  thus  wedded  to  sor- 
row !  how  mysterious  the  nature  in  which  they  were  united ! 

A  shower  of  tears  washed  away  the  vain  emotions  I  blushed 
to  have  felt.  But  I  could  not  be  as  though  I  had  never  known 
them.  I  could  not  recall  the  guileless  simplicity  of  childhood, 
Its  sweet  unconscio  .sness  and  contentment,  in  the  present  joy. 

0  foolish,  foolish  Gabriella  !     Art  thou  no  longer  a  child  ? 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MR.  Regulus  still  called  me  "  child."  We  had  quite  a  scena 
in  the  academy  one  day  after  the  school  was  dismissed,  and  I 
was  preparing  as  usual  to  return  home. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  few  moments'  conversation,  Miss 
Gabriella  ?  "  said  he,  clearing  his  throat  with  one  of  those  herns 
which  once  sounded  so  awful.  He  looked  awkward  and  dis- 
concerted, while  my  face  flushed  with  trepidation.  Had  I  been 
guilty  of  any  omitted  duty  or  committed  offence?  Had  I 
suffered  an  error  on  the  blackboard  to  pass  unnoticed,  or 
allowed  a  mistake  in  grammar  to  be  uncorrected  ?  What  had 
I  done  ? 

I  stood  nervously  pulling  the  fingers  of  my  gloves,  waiting 
for  him  to  commence  the  conversation  he  had  sought.  Another 
hem  !  —  then  he  moved  the  inkstand  about  a  foot  further  from 
him,  for  he  was  standing  close  to  his  desk,  as  if  to  gather  round 
him  every  imposing  circumstance,  then  he  took  up  the  ruler  and 
measured  it  with  his  eye,  run  his  finger  along  the  edge,  as  if  it 
were  of  razor  sharpness. 

"  Is  he  going  to  punish  me  ?  "  thought  I.  "  It  looks  omi 
nous." 

I  would  not  assist  him  by  one  word ;  but  maintaining  a  pro- 
voking silence,  took  up  a  pair  of  compasses  and  made  a  circle 
on  the  green  cloth  that  covered  the  desk. 

"  Miss  Gabriella,"  at  length  he  said,  "  you  must  forgive  me 
for  taking  the  liberty  of  an  old  friend.  Nothing  but  the  most 
disinterested  regard  for  your  —  your  reputation  —  could  induce 
me  lo  mention  a  eubject  —  so  —  so  very  —  very  peculiar." 


EL.NESTLINWOOD.  88 

*  Good  heavens  ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  my  reputation,  Mi  Rega- 
ins ?  " 

I  felt  the  blood  bubbling  like  boiling  water,  up  into  my 
cheek. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  or  distress  you,"  he  continued,  be- 
coming more  self-possessed,  as  my  agitation  increased.  "  You 
know  a  young  girl,  left  without  her  natural  guardians,  especial- 
ly if  she  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  endowed  with  those  charms 
which  too  often  attract  the  shafts  of  envy  and  stir  up  the 
venom  of  malice,"  — 

"  Mr.  Regulus  I "  I  interrupted,  burning  with  impatience  and 
indignation,  "  tell  me  what  you  mean.  Has  any  one  dared  to 
slander  me,  —  and  for  what  ?  " 

"  No  one  would  dare  to  breathe  aught  of  evil  against  you  in 
my  presence,"  said  he,  with  great  dignity ;  "  but  the  covert 
whisper  may  pass  from  lip  to  lip,  and  the  meaning  glance  flash 
from  eye  to  eye,  when  your  friend  and  protector  is  not 
near  to  shield  you  from  aspersion,  and  vindicate  your  fame." 

"  Stop,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  you  terrify  —  you  destroy  me !  " 

The  room  spun  round  like  a  top.  Every  thing  looked  misty 
and  black.  I  caught  hold  of  Mr.  Regulus's  arm  to  keep  me 
from  falling.  Foes  in  ambush,  glittering  tomahawks,  deadly 
scalping-knives,  were  less  terrible  than  my  dark  imaginings. 

"  Bless  me,"  cried  my  master,  seating  me  in  his  great  arm- 
chair and  fanning  me  with  an  atlas  which  he  caught  from  his 
desk,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  frighten  you,  my  child.  I  wanted  to 
advise,  to  counsel  you,  to  prevent  misconstruction  and  unkind 
remark.  My  motives  are  pure,  indeed  they  are ;  you  believe 
they  are,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  I  answered,  passing  my  hand  over  my 
eyes,  to  clear  away  the  dark  specks  thai  still  floated  over  them ; 
"  but  if  you  have  any  regard  for  my  feelings,  speak  at  once, 
plainly  and  openly.  I  will  be  grateful  for  any  advice  prompted 
by  kindness,  and  expressed  without  mystery." 

"  I  only  thought,"  said  he,  becoming  again  visibly  embar- 
rassed, "  that  I  would  suggest  the  propriety  of  your  not  per- 
mitting young  Clyde  to  accompany  you  home  so  often.  Tha 


84  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

extraordinary  interest  he  took  in  you  as  a  boy,  renders  his 
present  attentions  more  liable  to  remark.  A  young  girl  in 
your  situation,  my  child,  cannot  be  too  particular,  too  much  oil 
her  guard.  College  boys  are  wild  fellows.  They  are  not  sal* 
companions  for  innocence  and  simplicity  like  yours." 

"  And  is  this  all  ?  "  I  asked,  drawing  a  long  breath,  and  feeJ 
ing  as  if  Mont  Blanc  had  rolled  from  my  breast. 

"  It  is." 

"  And  you  have  heard  no  invidious  remarks  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Gabriella,  but  —  " 

"  My  dear  master,"  said  I,  rising  with  a  joyous  spring  from 
my  chair.  "  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  your 
anxious  care  of  my  good  name.  But  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Linwood 
would  not  have  sanctioned  an  impropriety.  I  have  always  felt 
towards  Richard  as  I  imagine  I  would  towards  a  brother,  were 
I  so  blest  as  to  have  one.  He  has  made  my  lonely  walks  very 
pleasant  by  his  lively  and  intelligent  conversation.  Still,  I  do 
not  care  to  have  him  accompany  me  so  often.  I  would  rather 
that  he  would  not.  I  will  tell  him  so.  I  dare  say  you  are 
right,  Mr.  Regulus  ;  I  know  you  are.  I  know  so  little  of  the 
world,  I  may  offend  its  rules  without  being  aware  of  it." 

I  felt  so  unspeakably  relieved,  so  happy  that  the  mountain 
of  slander  which  my  imagination  had  piled  up  was  reduced  to 
an  anticipated  molehill,  that  my  spirits  rebounded  even  to 
gaiety.  I  laughed  at  the  sight  of  my  torn  glove,  for  I  had  actu- 
ally pulled  off  the  fingers  by  my  nervous  twitches. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  apply  the  spatula.  I  feared 
you  thought  me  guilty  of  writing  another  poem,  Mr.  Regulus  ; 
what  else  could  make  you  look  so  formidable  ?  " 

"  Ah !  Gabriella,  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  was  very 
harsh,  very  disagreeable  then.  I  wonder  you  have  ever  for- 
given me ;  I  have  never  forgiven  myself.  I  know  not  how  it 
is,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  a  softening  change  has  come  over  me. 
1  feel  more  tenderly  towards  the  young  beings  committed  to  my 
care,  more  indulgence  for  the  weaknesses  and  errors  of  my  kind. 
I  did  not  mind,  then,  trampling  on  a  flower,  if  it  sprung  up  in 
my  path ;  now  I  would  stoop  down  and  inhale  its  fragrance, 


ERNEST     LIN  WO  ot>.  85 

and  bless  my  Maker  for  shedding  beauty  anj  sweetness  to 
gladden  my  way.  The  perception  of  the  beautiful  grows  and 
strengthens  in  me.  The  love  of  nature,  a  new-born  flower, 
blooms  in  my  heart,  and  diffuses  a  sweet  balininess  unknown 
before.  Even  poetry,  my  child  —  do  not  laugh  at  me  —  has 
begun  to  unfold  its  mystic  beauties  to  my  imagination.  I  was 
rending  the  other  evening  that  charming  paraphrase  of  the 
nineteenth  Psalm :  '  The  spacious  firmament  on  high,'  and  1 
was  exceedingly  struck  with  its  melodious  rhythm  ;  and  when 
I  looked  up  afterwards  to  the  starry  heavens,  to  the  moon  walk 
ing  in  her  brightness,  to  the  blue  and  boundless  ether,  they 
seemed  to  bend  over  me  in  love,  to  come  nearer  than  they  had 
ever  done  before.  I  could  hear  the  whisper  of  that  divine 
voice,  which  is  heard  in  the  rustling  of  the  forest  trees,  the 
gurgling  of  the  winding  stream,  and  the  rush  of  the  mountain 
cataract ;  and  every  day,"  he  added,  with  solemnity,  "  1  love 
man  more,  because  God  has  made  him  my  brother." 

He  paused,  and  his  countenance  glowed  with  the  fervor  of  his 
feelings.  With  an  involuntary  expression  of  reverence  and  ten- 
derness, I  held  out  my  hand  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  My  dear  master  —  " 

"  You  forgive  me,  then,"  taking  my  hand  in  both  his,  and 
burying  it  in  his  large  palms ;  "  you  do  not  think  me  officious 
and  overbearing  ?  " 

"  0  no,  sir,  I  have  nothing  to  fcrgive,  but  much  to  be  grate- 
ful for ;  thank  you,  I  must  go,  for  I  have  a  long  walk  to  take 
—  alone" 

With  an  emphasis  on  the  last  word  I  bade  him  adieu,  ran 
down  the  steps,  and  went  on  musing  so  deeply  on  my  singular 
interview  with  Mr.  Regulus,  that  I  attempted  to  walk  through 
a  tree  by  the  way-side.  A  merry  laugh  rang  close  to  my  ear, 
and  Richard  Clyde  sprang  over  the  fence  right  before  me. 

"  It  should  have  opened  and  imprisoned  you,  as  a  truant 
dryad,"  said  he.  "  Of  what  are  you  thinking,  Gabriella,  that 
you  forget  the  impenetrability  of  matter,  the  opacity  of  bark, 
and  the  incapability  of  flesh  and  blood  to  cleave  asunder  the 


86  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

ligneous  fibres  which  oppose  it,  as  the  sonorous  Johnson  would 
have  observed  on  a  similar  occasion." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,  Richard,"  I  answered  with  resolute 
frankness. 

"  Of  me ! "  he  exclaimed,  while  his  eyes  sparkled  with  ani- 
mated pleasure.  "  Oh,  walk  through  all  the  trees  of  Grandison 
Place,  if  you  will  honor  me  with  one  passing  thought." 

"  You  know  you  have  always  been  like  a  brother  to  me, 
Richard." 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  how  a  brother  feels.  You  have  taken 
my  fraternal  regard  for  granted,  but  I  am  sure  I  have  never 
professed  any." 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  have  believed  actions  more  expressive 
than  words.  I  shall  never  commit  a  similar  error." 

With  deeply  wounded  and  indignant  feelings,  I  walked  rap- 
idly on,  without  deigning  to  look  at  one  so  heartless  and  capri- 
cious. Mr.  Regulus  was  right.  He  was  not  a  proper  com- 
panion. I  would  never  allow  him  to  walk  with  me  again. 

"  Are  you  not  familiar  enough  with  my  light,  mocking  way, 
Gabriella  ?  "  he  cried,  keeping  pace  with  my  accelerated  steps. 
"  Do  not  you  know  me  well  enough  to  understand  when  I  am 
Berious  and  when  jesting?  I  have  never  professed  fraternal 
regard,  because  I  know  a  brother  cannot  feel  half  the  —  the 
interest  for  you  that  I  do  I  thought  you  knew  it, —  I  dare 
not  say  more,  —  I  cannot  say  less." 

"  No,  no,  do  not  say  any  more,"  said  I,  shrinking  with  inde- 
finable dread ;  "  I  do  not  want  any  professions.  I  meant  not  to 
call  them  forth.  If  I  alluded  to  you  as  a  brother,  it  was  be- 
cause I  wished  to  speak  to  you  with  the  frankness  of  a  sister. 
It  is  better  that  you  should  not  walk  with  me  from  school,  — 
it  is  not  proper,  —  people  will  make  remarks." 

"  Well,  let  them  make  them,  —  who  cares  ?  " 

"I  care,  a  great  deal.  I  will  not  be  the  subject  of  village 
gossip." 

"  Who  put  this  idea  in  your  head,  Gabriella?  I  know  it  did 
not  originate  there.  You  are  too  artless,  too  unsuspicious. 


EB  NEST     LI  X  WOOD.  87 

Oh !  I  know,"  he  added,  with  a  heightened  color  and  a,  raised 
tone,  "  you  have  been  kept  after  school ;  you  have  had  a  lecture 
on  propriety ;  you  cannot  deny  it." 

"  I  neither  deny  nor  affirm  any  thing.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence who  suggested  it.  My  own  judgment  tells  me  it  is  right." 

"  The  old  fellow  is  jealous,"  said  he  with  a  laugh  of  derision, 
"but  he  cannot  control  my  movements.  The  road  is  wide 
enough  for  us  both,  and  the  world  is  wider  still." 

"  How  can  you  say  any  thing  so  absurd  and  ridiculous  ?  "  1 
exclaimed  ;  and  vexed  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  his 
preposterous  suggestion. 

"  Because  I  know  it  is  the  truth.  But  I  really  thought  you 
above  the  fear  of  village  gossip,  Gabriella,  Why,  it  is  more 
idle  than  the  passing  wind,  lighter  than  the  down  of  the  gossa- 
mer. I  thought  you  had  a  noble  independence  of  character, 
incapable  of  being  moved  by  a  whiff  of  breath,  a  puff  of 
empty  air.;' 

"I  trust  I  have  sufficient  independence  to  do  what  is  right 
and  sufficient  prudence  to  avoid,  if  possible,  the  imputation  of 
wrong,"  I  replied,  with  grave  earnestness. 

"Oh!  upright  judge!  —  oh!  excellent  young  sage!"  ex» 
claimed  Richard,  with  mock  reverence.  "  Wisdom  becometh 
thee  so  well,  I  shall  be  tempted  to  quarrel  hereafter  with  thy 
smiles.  But  seriously,  Gabriella,  I  crave  permission  to  walk 
courteously  home  with  you  this  evening,  for  it  is  the  last  of  my 
vacation.  To-morrow  I  leave  you,  and  it  will  be  months  before 
\*e  meet  again." 

"I  might  have  spared  you  and  myself  this  foolish  scene, 
then,"  said  I,  deeply  mortified  at  its  result.  "  I  have  incurred 
your  ridicule,  perhaps  your  contempt,  in  vain.  We  might  have 
parted  friends,  at  least." 

"  No,  by  heavens !  Gabriella,  not  friends  ;  we  must  be  some- 
thing more,  or  less  than  friends.  I  did  not  think  to  say  this 
now,  but  I  can  hold  it  back  no  longer.  And  why  should  I  ? 
*  All  ray  faults  perchance  thou  knowest.'  As  was  the  boy,  as 
IB  the  youth,  so  most  likely  will  be  the  man.  No  !  if  you 


88  E  n  X  E  S  T      L  I  N  \V  O  O  D  . 

love  me,  Gabriella,  —  if  I  may  look  forward  to  the  day  when  I 
shall  be  to  you  friend,  brother,  guardian,  lover,  all  in  one,  — 
I  shall  have  such  a  motive  for  excellence,  such  a  spring  to  am- 
bition, that  I  will  show  the  world  the  pattern  of  a  man,  such  as 
they  never  saw  before." 

"  I  wish  you  had  not'  said  this,"  I  answered,  averting  from 
his  bright  and  earnest  eye  my  confused  and  troubled  glance. 
"  We  should  be  so  much  happier  a«  friends.  We  are  so  young, 
too.  It  will  be  time  enough  years  hence  to  talk  of  such 
things." 

"  Too  young  to  love  !  We  are  in  the  very  spring-time  of 
our  life,  —  the  season  of  blossoms  and  fragrance,  music  and 
love,  —  oh,  daughter  of  poetry !  is  it  you  who  utter  such  a 
thought  ?  Would  you  wait  for  the  sultry  summer,  the  dry 
autumn,  to  cultivate  the  morning  flower  of  Paradise  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  dream  you  had  so  much  hidden  romance,"  said  I, 
smiling  at  his  metaphorical  language,  and  endeavoring  to  turn 
the  conversation  in  a  new  channel.  "  I  thought  you  mocked  at 
sentiment  and  poetic  raptures." 

"  Love  works  miracles,  Gabriella.  You  do  not  answer. 
You  evade  the  subject  on  which  all  my  life's  future  depends. 
Is  there  no  chord  in  your  heart  that  vibrates  in  harmony  with 
mine  ?  Are  there  no  memories  associated  with  the  oak  trees 
of  the  wood,  the  mossy  stone  at  the  fountain,  the  sacred  rose  of 
the  grave,  propitious  to  my  early  and  ever-growing  love  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  a  depth  of  feeling  of  which  I  had  never 
thought  him  possessed.  Sincerity  and  truth  dignified  every 
look  and  tone.  Yes !  there  were  undying  memories,  now 
•wakened  in  all  their  strength,  jof  the  youthfu'  .champion  of  my 
injured  rights,  the  sympathizing  companion  of  my  darkest  hours  ; 
the  friend,  who  stood  by  me  when  other  friends  were  unknown. 
There  was  many  a  responsive  chord  that  thrilled  at  his  voice, 
and  there  was  another  note,  a  sweet  triumphant  note  never 
struck  befo-e.  The  new-born  consciousness  of  woman's  power, 
the  joy  of  being  beloved,  the  regal  sense  of  newly  acquired 
dominion  swelled  in  my  bosom  and  flashed  from  niy  eye.  But 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  89 

the  master-chord  was  siknt.  I  knew,  I  felt  even  then,  that 
there  was  a  golden  string,  down  in  the  very  depths  of  ray 
heart,  too  deep  for  his  hand  to  touch. 

I  felt  grieved  and  glad.  Grieved  that  I  could  not  give  a  full 
response  to  his  generous  offering,  —  glad  that  I  had  capacities 
of  loving,  he,  with  all  his  excellences,  could  never  fill.  I  tried 
to  tell  him  what  I  felt,  to  express  friendship,  gratitude,  and 
esteem ;  but  he  would  not  hear  me,  —  he  would  not  let  me  go 
on. 

"  No,  no  ;  say  nothing  now,"  said  he  impetuously.  "  I  have 
been  premature.  You  do  not  know  your  own  heart.  You  do 
love  me,  —  you  will  love  me.  You  must  not,  you  shall  not 
deny  me  the  privilege  of  hope.  I  will  maintain  the  vantage 
ground  on  which  I  stand,  —  first  friend,  first  lover,  and  even 
Ernest  Linwood  cannot  drive  me  from  it." 

"  Ernest  Linwood  ! "  I  exclaimed,  startled  and  indignant 
"  You  know  he  can  never  be  any  thing  to  me.  You  know  my 
immeasurable  obligations  to  his  mother.  His  name  shall  be 
sacred  from  levity." 

"  It  is.  He  is  the  last  person  whom  I  would  lightly  name. 
He  has  brilliant  talents  and  a  splendid  position ;  but  woe  to  the 
woman  who  places  her  happiness  in  his  keeping.  He  confides 
in  no  one,  —  so  the  world  describes  him,  —  is  jealous  and  sus- 
picious even  in  friendship  ;  —  what  would  he  be  in  love  ?  " 

"  I  know  not.  I  care  not,  —  only  for  his  mother's  and 
Edith's  sake.  Again  I  say,  he  is  nothing  to  me.  Richard,  you 
trouble  me  very  much  by  your  strange  way  of  talking.  You 
have  no  idea  how  you  have  made  my  head  ache.  Please  speak 
of  common  subjects,  for  I  would  not  meet  Mrs.  Linwood  so 
troubled,  so  agitated,  for  any  consideration.  See  how  beautiful 
the  sunlight  falls  on  the  lawn !  How  graceful  that  white  cloud 
flouts  down  the  golden  west !  As  Wilson  says  :  — 

'  Even  in  its  very  motion  there  is  rest.'  " 

"  Yes !  the  sunlight  is  very  beautiful,  and  the  cloud  is  very 
graceful,  and  you  are  beautiful  and  graceful  in  your  dawning 
coquetry,  the  more  so  becausp  vou  know  it  not.  Well  — obedi- 


90  BRNESTLINWOOD. 

ence  to-day,  reward  to-morrow,  Gabriella.    That  was  one  of 
my  old  copies  at  the  academy." 

"  I  remember  another,  which  was  a  favorite  of  Mr.  Reg* 
lus  — 

'  To-morrow  never  yet 
On  any  human  being  rose  and  set.'  " 

A  few  more  light  repartees,  and  we  were  at  Mrs.  Linwood's 
gate. 

"  You  will  not  come  in  ?  "  said  I,  half  asserting,  half  interro- 
gating. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  Edith  promised  me  some  of  her  angelic 
harp  music.  I  come  like  Saul  to  have  the  evil  spirit  of  discon- 
tent subdued  by  its  divine  influence." 

Richard  was  a  favorite  of  Mrs.  Linwood.  Whether  it  was 
that  by  a  woman's  intuition  she  discovered  the  state  of  feeling 
existing  between  us,  or  whether  it  was  his  approaching  depart- 
ure, she  was  especially  kind  to  him  this  evening ;  she  expressed 
a  more  than  usual  interest  in  his  future  prospects. 

"  This  is  your  last  year  in  college,"  I  heard  her  say  to  him. 
u  In  a  few  months  you  will  feel  the  dignity  and  responsibility 
of  manhood.  You  will  come  out  from  the  seclusion  of  collegt 
life  into  the  wide,  wide  world,  and  of  its  myriad  paths,  so  intri 
cate,  yet  so  trodden,  you  must  choose  one.  You  are  looking 
forward  now,  eagerly,  impatiently,  but  then  you  will  pause  and 
tremble.  I  pity  the  young  man  when  he  first  girds  himself  for 
the  real  duties  of  life.  The  change  from  thought  to  action,  from 
dreams  to  realities,  from  hope  to  fruition  or  disappointment,  is 
so  sudden,  so  great,  he  requires  the  wisdom  which  is  only 
bought  by  experience,  the  strength  gained  only  by  exercise. 
But  it  is  well,"  she  added,  with  great  expression,  "  it  is  well  as 
it  is.  If  youth  could  command  the  experience  of  age,  it  would 
jose  the  enthusiasm  and  zeal  necessary  for  the  conception  of 
great  designs ;  it  would  lose  the  brightness,  the  energy  of  hope, 
and  nothing  would  be  attempted,  because  every  thing  would  be 
thought  in  vain.  I  did  not  mean  to  give  you  an  essay,"  she 
eaid,  smiling  at  her  own  earnestness,  "but  a  young  friend 
ou  the  threshold  of  manhood  is  deeply  interesting  to  me.  I 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  91 

feel   constrained  to  give  him  my  best    counsels,   my  fervert 
prayers." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Madam,  a  thousand  times,"  he  answered 
his  countenance  lighted  up  with  grateful  pleasure  ;  "  you  do  noi 
know  what  inspiration  there  is  in  the  conviction  that  we  are 
cared  for  by  the  pure  and  the  good.  Seifish  as  we  are,  therfl 
are  few  of  us  who  strive  to  excel  for  ourselves  alone.  We  must 
feel  that  there  are  some  hearts,  who  bear  us  in  remembrance, 
who  will  exult  in  our  successes,  and  be  made  happier  by  our 
virtues." 

He  forgot  himself,  and  though  he  addressed  Mrs.  Linwood, 
his  eye  sought  mine,  while  uttering  the  closing  words.  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  blush  at  his  glance,  and  still  more  at  the 
placid,  intelligent  smile  of  Mrs.  Linwood.  It  seemed  to  say, 

"  I  understand  it  all ;  it  is  all  right,  just  as  it  should  be. 
There  is  no  danger  of  Richard's  being  forgotten." 

I  was  provoked  by  her  smile,  his  glance,  and  my  own  foolish 
blush.  As  for  him,  he  really  did  seem  inspired.  He  talked  of 
the  profession  he  had  chosen  as  the  noblest  and  the  best,  a  pro- 
fession which  had  commanded  the  most  exalted  talents  and 
most  magnificent  geniuses  in  the  world.  He  was  not  holy 
enough  for  the  ministry ;  he  had  too  great  reverence  and  regard 
for  human  life  to  be  a  physician ;  but  he  believed  nature  had 
created  him  for  a  lawyer,  for  that  much  abused,  yet  glorious 
being,  an  honest  lawyer. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  been  nervous,  in  consequence  of  the 
exciting  scenes  through  which  I  had  passed,  but  there  was 
something  in  his  florid  eloquence,  animated  gestures,  and  evi- 
dent desire  to  make  a  grand  impression,  that  strangely  affected 
ray  risibles ;  I  had  always  thought  him  so  natural  before.  I 
tried  to  keep  from  laughing ;  I  compressed  my  lips,  and  turn- 
ing my  head,  looked  steadily  from  the  window,  but  a  sudden 
stammering,  then  a  pause,  showed  that  my  unconquerable  rude- 
ness was  observed.  I  was  sobered  at  once,  but  dared  not  look 
round,  lest  I  should  meet  Mrs.  Linwood's  reproving  glance. 
He  soon  after  asked  Edith  for  a  parting  song,  and  while  listen- 
ing to  her  sweet  voice,  as  it  mingled  with  the  breezy  etrainB  of 


92  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

the  harp,  my  excited  spirit  recovered  its  equilibrium.  I  thought 
with  regret  and  pain,  of  the  levity,  so  unwonted  in  me,  which 
had  wounded  a  heart  so  frank  and  true,  and  found  as  much 
difficulty  in  keeping  back  my  tears,  as  a  moment  before  I  had 
done  my  laughter. 

As  soon  as  Edith  had  finished  her  song,  he  rose  to  take  leave. 
II«;  came  to  me  last,  to  the  little  recess  in  the  window  where  I 
stood,  and  extended  his  hand  as  he  had  done  to  Mrs.  Linwood 
and  Edith.  He  looked  hurt  rather  than  angry,  disappointed 
rather  than  sad. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  I,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  I  value  your  friend- 
ship too  much  to  lose  it  without  an  effort." 

The  tears  were  in  my  eyes ;  I  could  not  help  it.  I  was 
sorry,  for  they  expressed  far  more  than  I  meant  to  convey.  I 
knew  it  at  once  by  the  altered,  beaming  expression  of  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Give  me  smiles  or  tears,  dear  Gabriella,"  he  answered,  in 
the  same  undertone ;  "  only  do  not  forget  me,  only  think  of  me 
as  I  wish  to  be  remembered." 

He  pressed  my  hand  warmly,  energetically,  while  uttering 
these  words ;  then,  without  giving  me  time  to  reply,  bowed 
again  to  Mrs.  Linwood  and  left  the  room. 

"A  very  fine,  promising  young  man,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood, 
with  emphasis. 

"  A  most  intelligent,  agreeable  companion,"  added  the  gentle 
Edith,  looking  smilingly  at  me,  as  if  expecting  me  to  say  some- 
thing. 

"  Very,"  responded  I,  in  a  constrained  manner. 

"Is  that  all?"  she  asked,  laying  her  soft,  white  hand  on  my 
choulders,  and  looking  archly  in  my  face ;  "  is  that  all,  Gabri- 
el la?" 

"  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken,"  said  I,  hastily  ;  "  he  is  nothing 
more,  —  and  yet  I  am  wrong  to  say  that,  —  he  has  been,  —  he 
is  like  a  brother  to  me,  Edith,  and  never  will  be  any  thing  more." 

"  Oh,  these  brother  friends  ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  burst  of 
musical  laughter,  "  how  very  near  they  seem !  But  wait,  Ga- 
briella, tilJ  vou  see  my  brother,  —  he  is  one  to  boast  of." 


EKNESTLINWOOD.  93 

"  Edith  ! "  said  her  mother.  Edith  turned  her  blue  eyes 
from  me  to  her  mother,  with  a  look  of  innocent  surprise.  The 
tone  seemed  intended  to  check  her,  —  yet  what  had  she  said  ? 

"  You  should  not  raise  expectations  in  Gabriella  which  will 
not  be  realized,"  observed  Mrs.  Linwood,  in  that  quiet  tone  of 
hers  which  had  so  much  power.  "  Ernest,  however  dear  he  may 
be  to  us  as  a  son  and  brother,  has  peculiar  traits  which  some- 
times repel  the  admiration  of  strangers.  His  impenetrable 
reserve  chills  the  warmth  of  enthusiasm,  while  the  fitfulness 
of  his  morals  produces  constant  inquietude.  He  was  born  un- 
der a  clouded  star,  and  the  horoscope  of  his  destiny  is  darkened 
by  its  influence." 

"  I  love  him  better  for  his  lights  and  shadows,"  said  J  dith, 
"  he  keeps  one  always  thinking  of  him." 

When  would  this  shadowy,  flashing  being  appear,  ^ho 
kept  one  always  thinking  of  him  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XV 

As  I  had  made  an  engagement  with  Mr.  Regulus  for  on? 
year,  I  remained  with  Dr.  Harlowe's  family  during  the  winter 
months,  while  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith  returned  to  the  city. 

The  only  novelty  of  that  wintry  season  was  the  first  corre- 
spondence of  my  life.  Could  any  thing  prove  more  strikingly 
my  isolated  position  in  the  world  than  this  single  fact?  Jt  was 
quite  an  era  in  my  existence  when  I  received  Mrs.  Linwood's 
and  Edith's  first  letters ;  and  when  I  answered  them,  it  seemed 
to  me  my  heart  was  flowing  out  in  a  gushing  stream  of  expres- 
sion, that  had  long  sought  vent.  I  knew  they  must  have 
smiled  at  my  exuberance  of  language,  for  the  young  enthusiast 
always  luxuriates  under  epistolary  influences.  I  had  another 
correspondent,  a  very  unexpected  one,  Richard  Clyde,  who, 
sanctioned  by  Mrs.  Linwood,  begged  permission  to  write  to  me 
as  a  friend.  How  could  I  refuse,  when  Mrs.  Linwood  said  it 
would  be  a  source  of  intellectual  improvement  as  well  as  pleas- 
ure? These  letters  occupied  much  of  my  leisure  time,  and 
were  escape-pipes  to  an  imagination  of  the  high-pressure  kind. 
My  old  love  of  rhyming,  too,  rose  from  the  ashes  of  former 
humiliation,  and  I  wove  many  a  garland  of  poesy,  though  no 
one  but  myself  inhaled  their  fragrance  or  admired  their  bloom. 

"As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  ocean, 
Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  see,  —  " 

So  in  the  solitude  of  my  chamber,  in  the  loneliness  of  my 
heart,  in  the  breathing  stillness  of  the  night,  blossomed  the 
moon-born  flowers  of  poesy,  to  beautify  and  gladden  my  youth. 
Thus  glided  away  the  last  tranquil  season  of  my  life.     As 
(W) 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  95 

was  one  day,  so  was  the  next.  Mrs.  Harlowe's  clock-work 
virtues,  which  never  run  down,  the  doctor's  agreeable  careless- 
ness and  imperturbable  good-humor,  the  exceeding  kindness 
of  Mr,  Regulus,  who  grew  so  gentle,  that  he  almost  seemed 
melancholy,  —  all  continued  the  same.  In  reading,  writing, 
thinking,  feeling,  hoping,  reaching  forward  to  an  uncertain  fu- 
ture, the  season  of  fireside  enjoyments  and  comforts  passed,  — 
spring,  —  summer.  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith  returned,  and 
I  was  once  more  installed  in  that  charming  apartment,  amid 
whose  rosy  decorations  "  I  seemed,"  as  Edith  said,  "  a  fairy 
v^ueen."  I  walked  once  more  in  the  moon-lighted  colonnade, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  granite  walls,  and  felt  that  I  was  born  to 
be  there. 

One  evening  as  I  returned  home,  I  saw  Edith  coming  through 
the  lawn  to  meet  me,  so  rapidly  that  she  seemed  borne  on 
wings,  —  her  white  drapery  fell  in  such  full  folds  over  her 
crutches  it  entirely  concealed  them,  and  they  made  no  sound  on 
the  soft,  thick  grass.  Her  face  was  perfectly  radiant. 

"  Oh,  Gabriella,"  she  exclaimed,  "  he  is  coming,  —  brother  is 
coming  home,  —  he  will  be  here  in  less  than  a  week,  —  oh  J  I 
am  so  happy  !  " 

And  the  sweet,  affectionate  creature  leaned  her  head  on  my 
shoulder,  and  actually  sobbed  in  the  fulness  of  her  joy.  My 
own  heart  palpitated  with  strange  emotions,  with  mingled  curi- 
osity, eagerness,  and  dread. 

"  Dear  Edith,"  I  cried,  putting  my  arms  around  her,  and  kiss- 
•ng  her  fair,  infantine  cheek,  "  I  rejoice  with  you,  —  I  could 
snvy  you  if  I  dared.  What  a  blessing  it  must  be  to  have  a 
brother  capable  of  inspiring  so  much  love  ! " 

"  He  shall  be  your  brother  too,  Gabriella !  For,  are  you 
not  my  sister  ?  and  of  course  he  must  be  your  brother.  Come, 
let  us  sit  down  under  the  dear  old  elm  and  talk  about  him,  for 
my  heart  is  so  full  that  I  can  speak  and  think  of  nothing  else." 

"  And  now,"  added  she,  as  we  sat  under  the  kingly  canopy 
of  verdure,  —  on  a  carpet  of  living  velvet,  —  "  let  me  tell  you 
why  I  love  Ernest  so  very,  very  dearly.  My  father  died  when 
I  was  a  little  child,  a  little  feeble  child,  a  cripple  as  well  as  an 


96  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

invalid.  Ernest  is  four  years  older  than  myself,  and  though 
when  I  was  a  little  child  he  was  but  a  very  young  boy,  he  al- 
ways seemed  a  protector  and  guardian  to  me.  He  never  cared 
about  play  like  other  children,  loving  his  book  better  than  any 
thing  else,  but  willing  to  leave  even  that  to  amuse  and  gratify 
me.  Oh !  I  used  to  suffer  so  much,  so  dreadfully,  —  I  could 
not  lie  down,  I  could  not  sit  up  without  pain,  —  no  medicine 
would  give  me  any  relief.  Hour  after  hour  would  Ernest  hold 
me  in  his  arms,  and  carry  me  about  in  the  open  air,  never  own- 
ing he  was  weary  while  he  could  give  me  one  moment's  ease. 
No  one  thought  I  would  live  beyond  childhood,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  many  believed  that  death  would  be  a  blessing  to  the  poor, 
crippled  child.  They  did  not  know  how  dear  life  was  to  me  in 
spite  of  all  my  sufferings ;  for  had  I  always  been  well,  I  nev-er 
should  have  known  those  tender,  cherishing  cares  which  have 
filled  my  heart  with  so  much  love.  It  is  so  sweet  to  be  petted 
and  caressed  as  I  have  been !  " 

"  It  did  not  need  sickness  and  suffering  to  make  you  beloved, 
Edith,"  I  cried,  twisting  my  fingers  in  her  soft,  golden  curls. 
*  Who  could  help  loving  you  and  wishing  to  caress  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  it  did,  Gabriella ;  my  Heavenly  Father  knew  that  it 
did,  or  He  would  never  have  laid  upon  me  His  chastening  hand. 
Sickness  and  pain  have  been  my  only  chastisements,  and  they 
are  all  past.  I  am  not  very  strong,  but  I  am  well ;  and  though 
a  cripple,  my  wooden  feet  serve  me  wonderfully  well.  I  am  so 
used  to  them  now,  they  seem  a  part  of  myself." 

"  I  can  never  think  of  you  as  walking,"  I  said,  taking  one  of 
the  crutches  that  leaned  against  the  tree.  The  part  which 
fitted  under  the  arm  was  covered  with  a  cushion  of  blue  velvet, 
and  the  rosewood  staff  was  mounted  with  silver.  "  You  man- 
age these  so  gracefully,  one  scarcely  misses  your  feet." 

"  But  Ernest,  dear  Ernest,"  interrupted  she,  "  let  us  talk  of 
him.  You  must  not  be  influenced  too  much  by  my  mother's 
words.  She  adores  him,  but  her  standard  of  perfection  is  so  ex- 
alted few  can  attain  it  The  very  excess  of  h  >r  love  makes  her 
alive  to  his  defects.  She  knows  your  vivid  imagination,  and 
fears  my  lavish  praises  will  lead  you  to  expect  a  being  of  super- 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  97 

human  excellence.  Oh,  another  thing  I  wanted  to  tell  you. 
TJae  uncle,  for  whom  he  was  named,  has  died  and  left  him  a 
splendid  fortune,  which  he  did  not  need  very  much,  you  know. 
Had  it  not  been  for  this  circumstance,  he  would  not  have  come 
back  till  autumn ;  and  now  he  will  be  here  in  a  week,  —  in 
less  than  a  week.  Oh,  Gabriella,  Grandison  Place  must  shine 
for  its  master's  welcome." 

Another  splendid  fortune  added  to  his  own !  Further  and 
further  still,  seemed  he  removed  from  me.  But  what  difference 
did  it  make  ?  Why  did  I  think  of  him  in  reference  to  myself? 
How  dared  I  do  it,  foolish  and  presumptuous  girl !  Then,  he 
was  seven  years  older  than  myself.  How  mature  !  He  would 
probably  look  upon  me  as  a  little  girl ;  and  if  he  granted  me  the 
honors  of  womanhood,  the  student  of  Gottingen,  the  heir  oi* 
two  great  fortunes  would  scarcely  notice  the  village  teacher, 
save  as  the  orphan  protegee  of  his  mother. 

I  did  not  indulge  these  thoughts.  I  repelled  them,  for  they 
•were  selfish  and  uncomfortable.  If  every  one  recorded  their 
thoughts  as  I  do,  would  they  not,  like  me,  pray  for  the  blotting 
angel's  tears  ? 

In  one  week  !     How  soon ! 

Mrs.  Linwood,  quiet  and  serene  as  she  was,  participated  in 
Edith's  joyful  excitement.  She  departed  from  her  usual  reli- 
ance on  the  subject,  and  checked  not  Edith's  glowing  warmth. 

In  a  family  so  wealthy,  a  dwelling  so  abounding  in  all  the 
elegancies  and  luxuries  of  life,  the  coming  of  a  prince  would 
not  have  occasioned  any  necessary  disturbance.  The  chamber 
of  the  son  and  brother  had  been  long  prepared,  but  now  the 
fastidious  eye  of  affection  discovered  many  deficiencies.  The 
pictures  must  be  changed  in  position ;  some  wanted  more,  some 
less  light ;  the  curtains  were  too  heavy,  the  flower  vases  too 
gorgeous. 

"  Does  he  mind  these  things  much  ?  "  I  ventured  to  a°k. 

"  He  likes  to  see  every  thing  round  him  elegant  and  classic," 
replied  Edith ;  "  he  has  the  most  fastidious  taste  in  the  worM. 
I  am  so  glad,  Gabriella,  that  you  are  pretty,  that  you  are  really 
classically  beautiful,  for  he  will  think  so  much  more  of  you  for 


ERNEST    LINVTOOD. 


being  so.  He  ought  not,  perhaps ;  but  one  cannot  help  having 
a  fine  taste.  He  cannot  abide  any  thing  coarse  or  unrefined."^ 
'•  I'e  will  not  think  of  me  at  all,  I  am  sure  he  will  not,"  I 
answered,  while  a  vivid  blush  of  pleasure  at  her  sweet  flattery 
BIO.«  vver  my  cheek. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

IT  was  my  office  to  gather  and  arrange  the  flowers,  to  adorn 
the  mansion,  in  consequence  of  Edith's  lameness.  This  I  did 
every  morning  while  they  were  sparkling  with  dew  and  the 
fragrance  of  night  still  imprisoned  in  their  folded  petals.  1 
delighted  in  the  task ;  but  now  I  could  not  help  feeling  unusual 
solicitude  about  my  floral  mission.  I  rose  earlier  than  usual, 
and  made  fearful  havoc  in  the  garden  and  the  green-house. 
My  apron  dripped  with  blossoms  every  step  I  took,  and  the 
carpet  was  literally  strewed  with  flowers.  The  fairest  and 
sweetest  were  selected  for  the  room  not.  yet  occupied ;  and  though 
one  day  after  another  passed  away  and  he  came  not,  the  scent 
of  the  blossoms  lingered  in  the  apartment,  and  diffusing  in  it 
an  atmosphere  of  home  love,  prepared  it  for  the  wanderer's 
return. 

Every  afternoon  the  carriage  was  sent  to  the  depot,  which 
was  several  miles  from  Grandison  Place,  to  meet  the  traveller, 
and  again  and  again  it  returned  empty. 

"  Let  us  go  ourselves,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  beginning  to  be 
restless  and  anxious.  And  they  went  —  she  and  Edith.  Though 
it  was  Saturday  and  I  was  free,  I  did  not  accompany  them,  for 
I  felt  that  a  stranger  to  him  should  not  "  intermeddle  with  their 

j°y«" 

Partaking  of  the  restlessness  of  baffled  expectation,  I  could 
not  fix  my  mind  on  any  occupation.  I  seated  myself  in  the 
window  recess  and  began  to  read,  but  my  eyes  were  constantly 
wandering  to  the  road,  watching  for  the  dust  cloud  that  would 
roll  before  the  advancing  carriage.  Dissatisfied  with  myself,  1 
strolled  out  on  the  lawn,  and  seating  myself  on  the  rustic 


100  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

bench  with  my  back  to  the  gate,  resolutely  fastened  my  eyes  to 
the  pages  I  had  been  vainly  fluttering. 

Shall  I  tell  how  foolish  I  had  been  ?  Though  I  said  to  my- 
self a  hundred  times,  "  he  will  not  look  at  me,  or  notice  me  at 
all,"  I  had  taken  unusual  pains  with  my  dress,  which  though 
still  characterized  with  the  simplicity  of  mourning,  was  relieved 
of  its  severity  of  outline.  A  fall  of  lace  softened  the  bands  of 
the  neck  and  arms,  which  were  embellished  by  a  necklace  and 
bracelets,  which  I  valued  more  than  any  earthly  possession 
They  were  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Linwood,  who,  having  won  from 
the  grave  a  portion  of  my  mother's  beautiful  dark  hair,  had  it 
wrought  with  exquisite  skill,  and  set  in  massy  gold,  as  memo- 
rials of  love  stronger  than  death.  Thus  doubly  precious,  I 
cherished  them  as  holy  amulets,  made  sacred  by  the  living  as 
well  as  the  dead.  Edith  had  woven  in  my  hair  some  scarlet 
geraniums,  my  favorite  flower.  Though  not  very  elaborately 
adorned,  I  had  an  impression  I  was  looking  my  best,  and  I 
could  not  help  thinking  while  I  sat  half  veiled  by  foliage,  half 
gilded  by  light,  how  romantic  it  would  be,  if  a  magnificent 
stranger  should  suddenly  approach  and  as  suddenly  draw  back, 
on  seeing  my  dark,  waving  hair,  instead  of  the  golden  locks  of 
Edith.  I  became  so  absorbed  in  painting  this  little  scene, 
which  enlarged  and  glowed  under  the  pencil  of  imagination, 
that  I  did  not  hear  the  opening  of  the  gate  or  footsteps  crossing 
the  lawn.  I  thought  a  shadow  passed  over  the  sunshine.  The 
figure  of  a  stranger  stood  between  me  and  the  glowing  west. 
I  started  up  with  an  irrepressible  exclamation.  I  knew,  at  the 
first  glance,  that  it  was  Ernest  Linwood,  the  living  embodiment 
of  that  haunting  image,  so  long  drawn  on  my  youthful  fancy. 
I  should  have  known  him  in  the  farthest  isles  of  the  ocean, 
from  the  painting  in  the  library,  the  descriptions  of  Edith,  and 
the  sketches  of  my  own  imagination.  His  complexion  had  the 
pale,  transparent  darkness  of  eastern  climes,  and  his  eye  a 
kind  of  shadowy  splendor,  impossible  to  describe,  but  which 
reminded  me  at  once  of  his  mother's  similitude  of  the  "  clouded 
star."  He  was  not  above  the  common  height  of  man,  yet  he 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  101 

gave  me  an  impression  of  power  and  dignity,  such  as  mere 
physical  force  could  never  inspire. 

"  Is  this  Gpandison  Place  ?  my  home  ?  "  he  asked,  lifting 
his  hat  with  gentlemanly  grace  from  his  brows.  His  voice,  too, 
had  that  cultivated,  well-modulated  tone,  which  always  marks 
the  gentleman. 

"  It  is,  sir,"  I  answered,  trying  to  speak  without  embarrass- 
ment "  Mr.  Linwood,  I  presume."  t 

I  thought  I  had  made  a  mistake  in  his  name,  it  sounded  so 
strange.  I  had  never  heard  him  called  any  thing  but  Ernest 
Linwood,  and  Mr.  Linwood  had  such  a  stiff,  formal  sound,  I  was 
quite  disgusted  with  it. 

He  again  bowed,  and  looked  impatiently  towards  the  house. 

"  I  saw  a  young  female  and  thought  it  might  be  my  sister,  or 
I  should  not  have  intruded.  Shall  I  find  her,  —  shall  I  find  my 
mother  within  ?  " 

"  They  have  gone  to  meet  you,  —  they  have  been  looking 
for  you  these  many  days ;  I  know  not  how  you  have  missed 
them." 

"  By  coming  another  road.  I  jumped  from  the  carriage  and 
walked  on,  too  impatient  to  wait  its  slow  motions  in  ascending 
the  hill.  And  they  have  gone  to  meet  me.  They  really  wish 
to  see  me  back  again  !  " 

He  spoke  with  deep  feeling.  The  home  thoughts  and  affec- 
tions of  years  thrilled  from  his  tone.  This  seemed  one  of  those 
self-evident  truths,  that  required  no  confirmation,  and  I  made 
no  answer.  I  wondered  if  I  ought  to  ask  him  to  walk  in,  — 
him,  the  master  and  the  heir  ;  whether  I  should  ask  him  to  take 
a  seat  on  the  oaken  settee,  where  he  could  watch  the  carriage, 
ascending  the  winding  hill. 

"  Do  not  let  me  disturb  you,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  a 
questioning,  penetrating  glance,  then  added,  "  am  I  guilty  of 
the  rudeness  of  not  recognizing  a  former  acquaintance,  who  has 
passed  from  childhood  to  youth,  during  my  years  of  absence  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  answered,  again  wondering  if  politeness  required 
me  to  introduce  myself.  "I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  though  foi 


102  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

two  years  your  mother's  home  has  been  mine.  My  name  it 
Lynn,  —  Gabriella  Lynn." 

I  was  vexed  with  myself  for  this  awkward  introduction.  I 
did  not  know  what  I  ought  to  say,  and  painful  blushes  dyed  my 
cheeks.  I  would  not  have  mentioned  my  name  at  all,  only,  if 
his  mother  and  sister  delayed  their  coming,  he  might  feel  awk- 
ward himself,  from  not  knowing  what  to  call  me. 

"  My  mother's  protegee  !  "  said  he,  his  countenance  lighten- 
ing as  he  spoke.  "  Edith  has  mentioned  you  in  her  letters  ;  but 
I  expected  to  see  a  little  girl,  not  the  young  lady,  whom  I  find 
presiding  genius  here." 

My  self-respect  was  gratified  that  he  did  not  look  upon  me  as  a 
child,  and  there  was  something  so  graceful  and  unostentatious  in 
his  air  and  manner,  my  self-possession  came  back  without  an 
effort  to  recall  it. 

"  Will  you  walk  in  ?  "  I  asked,  now  convinced  it  was  right. 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  am  so  weary  of  the  confinement  of  the  car- 
riage, I  like  the  freedom  of  the  open  air.  I  like  this  rich,  vel- 
vet grass.  How  beautiful,  how  magnificent ! "  he  exclaimed, 
his  eye  taking  in  the  wide  sweep  of  landscape,  here  and  there 
darkened  with  shade,  and  at  intervals  literally  blazing  with 
the  crimson  sunlight,  —  then  sweeping  on  over  the  swelling 
mountains,  so  grand  in  their  purple  drapery  and  golden  crowns. 
"  How  exquisitely  beautiful !  My  mother  could  not  have 
selected  a  lovelier  spot,  —  and  these  old  granite  walls  !  how 
antique,  how  classic  they  are  ! " 

He  turned  and  examined  them,  with  a  pleased  yet  criticizing 
eye.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  velvet  lawn  with  a  firm,  yet 
restless  step,  stopping  occasionally  to  measure  with  his  glance 
the  towering  oaks  and  the  gigantic  elm.  I  began  to  be  uneasy 
at  the  protracted  absence  of  Mrs.  Linwood,  and  kept  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  rend,  whose  dark,  rich,  slatish-colored  surface, 
seen  winding  through  green  margins,  resembled  a  stream  of 
deep  water,  it  was  so  smooth  and  uniform.  I  knew  how  ful* 
must  be  the  heart  of  the  traveller.  I  did  not  wish  to  interrupt 
his  meditations  even  by  a  look. 

We  saw  it  coming,  —  the  family  carriage.     I  snw  his  pale 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  Io3 

cheek  flush  at  my  joyous  exclamation.  He  moved  rapidly  to- 
wards  the  gate,  while  I  ran  into  the  house,  up  stairs  and  into 
my  own  room,  that  I  might  not  intrude  on  moments  too  sacred 
for  curiosity. 

In  a  little  while,  I  could  hear  the  sound  of  their  mingling 
voices  coming  up  the  long  flight  of  marble  steps,  across  the 
wide  piazza,  and  then  they  came  soft  and  muffled  from  the 
drawing-room  below.  At  first,  forgetful  of  self,  I  sympathized 
in  their  joy.  I  rejoiced  for  my  benefactress,  I  rejoiced  for  the 
tender  and  affectionate  Edith.  But  after  sitting  there  a  long 
time  alone,  and  of  course  forgotten  in  the  rapture  of  this  family 
reunion,  thoughts  of  self  began  to  steal  over  and  chill  the  ardor 
of  my  sympathetic  emotions.  1  could  not  help  feeling  myself 
a  mote  in  the  dazzling  sunshine  of  their  happiness.  I  could 
not  help  experiencing,  in  all  its  bitterness,  the  isolation  of  my 
own  destiny.  I  remembered  the  lamentation  of  the  aged  and 
solitary  Indian,  "  that  not  a  drop  of  his  blood  flowed  in  the  veins 
of  a  living  being."  So  it  was  with  me.  To  my  knowledge,  I 
had  not  a  living  relative.  Friends  were  kind, — some  were 
more  than  kind ;  but  oh  !  there  are  capacities  for  love  friends 
can  never  fill.  There  are  niches  in  the  temple  of  the  heart  made 
for  household  gods,  and  if  they  are  left  vacant,  no  other  images, 
though  of  the  splendor  of  the  Grecian  statuary,  can  remove  its 
desolation.  Deep  ccdletk  unto  deep,  and  when  no  answer  cometh, 
the  waves  beat  against  the  lonely  strand  and  murmur  them- 
selves away. 

I  tried  to  check  all  selfish,  repining  feelings.  I  tried  to  keep 
from  envying  Edith,  but  I  could  not. 

"  O  that  I,  too,  had  a  brother  !  " 

Was  the  cry  of  my  craving  heart,  and  it  would  not  be  stilled. 
I  wiped  away  tear  after  tear,  resolving  each  should  be  the  last, 
but  the  fountain  was  full,  and  every  heaving  sigh  made  it  over- 
flow. 

At  length  I  heard  the  sound  of  Edith's  crutches  on  the  stairs, 
faint  and  muffled,  but  I  knew  it  from  all  other  sounds.  She 
could  mount  and  descend  the  stairs  as  lightly  as  a  bird,  in  spite 
of  her  infirmity. 


104  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"  Ah  !  truant ! "  she  cried,  as  she  opened  the  door,  a  you 
need  not  think  to  hide  yourself  here  all  night ;  we  want  you  tc 
come  and  help  us  to  be  happy,  for  I  am  so  happy  I  know  not 
what  to  do." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  most  brilliantly  through  those  drops  of 
joy,  as  different  to  the  tears  I  had  been  shedding  as  the  morn- 
ing dew  is  to  December's  wintry  rain. 

"  But  what  are  you  doing,  Gabriella  ?  "  she  added,  sitting 
down  beside  me  and  drawing  my  hand  from  my  eyes.  "  In 
tears !  I  have  been  almost  crying  my  eyes  out ;  but  you  do 
not  look  happy.  I  thought  you  loved  me  so  well,  you  would 
feel  happy  because  I  am  so.  Do  you  not  ?  " 

"  You  will  hate  me  for  my  selfishness,  dear  Edith.  I  did 
think  of  you  for  a  long  time,  and  rejoice  in  your  happiness. 
Then  I  began  to  think  how  lonely  and  unconnected  I  am,  and  I 
have  been  wicked  enough  to  envy  your  treasures  of  affection 
for  ever  denied  to  me.  I  felt  as  if  there  was  no  one  to  love  me 
in  the  wide  world.  But  you  have  remembered  me,  Edith,  even 
in  the  depth  of  your  joy,  ingrate  that  I  am.  Forgive  me," 
said  I,  passing  my  arms  round  her  beautiful  white  neck.  "  I 
will  try  to  be  good  after  this." 

She  kissed  me,  and  told  me  to  bathe  my  eyes  and  come  right 
down,  her  mother  said  I  must.  Ernest  had  inquired  what  had 
become  of  me,  and  he  would  think  it  strange  if  I  hid  myself  in 
this  way. 

"And  you  have  seen  him,  Gabriella,"  she  cried,  and  her 
tongue  ran  glibly  while  I  plunged  my  face  in  a  basin  of  cold 
water,  ashamed  of  the  traces  of  selfish  sorrow.  "  You  have  seen 
my  own  dear  brother  Ernest.  And  only  think  of  your  getting 
the  first  glimpse  of  him!  What  did  you  think  of  him  ?  What 
do  you  think  of  him  now  ?  Is  he  not  handsome  ?  Is  there  not 
something  very  striking,  very  attractive  about  him  ?  Is  he  not 
different  from  any  one  you  ever  saw  before  ?  " 

"  There  is  something  very  striking  in    his   appearance,"   I 
answered,  smiling  at  the  number  and  rapidity  of  her  questions 
"  but  I  was  so  disconcerted,  so  foolish,  I  hardly  dared  to  look 
him  in  the  face.     Has  he  changed  since  you  saw  him  last  ?  " 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  105 

"  Not  much,  —  rather  paler,  I  think ;  but  perhaps  it  is  only 
fatigue,  or  the  languor  following  intense  excitement  I  feel 
myself  as  if  all  my  strength  were  gone.  I  cannot  describe  my 
sensations  when  I  saw  him  standing  in  the  open  gateway.  I 
let  mamma  get  out  first.  I  thought  it  was  her  right  to  receive 
the  first  embrace  of  welcome ;  but  when  he  turned  to  me,  I 
threw  myself  on  his  neck,  discarding  my  crutches,  and  clung  to 
him,  just  as  I  used  to  do  when  a  little,  helpless,  suffering  child. 
And  would  you  believe  it,  Gabriella  ?  he  actually  shed  tears. 
I  did  not  expect  so  much  sensibility.  I  feared  the  world  had 
hardened  him,  —  but  it  has  not.  Make  haste  and  come  down 
with  me.  I  long  to  look  at  him  again.  Here,  let  me  put  back 
this  scarlet  geranium.  You  do  not  know  how  pretty  it  looks. 
Brother  said  —  no  —  I  will  not  tell  you  what  he  said.  Yes,  I 
will.  He  said  he  had  no  idea  the  charming  young  girl,  with 
such  a  classic  face  and  aristocratic  bearing,  was  mother's  little 
protegee." 

"  You  asked  him,  Edith,  I  know  you  did." 

"  Supposing  I  did,  —  there  was  no  harm  in  it.  Come,  I 
want  you  to  see  mamma;  she  looks  so  young  and  handsome. 
Joy  is  such  a  beautifier." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  I,  as  I  gazed  at  her  star-bright  eyes  and 
blush-rose  cheeks.  We  entered  the  drawing-room  together, 
where  Ernest  was  seated  on  the  sofa  by  his  mother,  with  her 
hand  clasped  in  his.  Edith  was  right,  —  she  did  look  younger 
and  handsomer  than  I  had  ever  seen  her.  She  was  usually 
pale  and  her  face  was  calm.  Now  a  breeze  had  stirred  the 
waters,  and  the  sunshine  quivered  on  the  rippling  surface. 

They  rose  as  we  entered,  and  came  forward  to  meet  us.  My 
old  trepidation  returned.  Would  Mrs.  Linwood  introduce  me,  — 
and  if  she  did,  in  what  manner  ?  Would  there  be  any  thing  in 
her  air  or  countenance  to  imply  that  I  was  a  dependent  on  her 
bounty,  rather  than  an  adopted  daughter  of  the  household? 
Hush,  —  these  proud  whispers.  Listen,  how  kindly  she  speaks. 

"  My  dear  Gabriella,  this  is  my  son,  Ernest.  You  know  it 
already,  and  he  knows  that  you  are  the  child  of  my  adoption. 
Nevertheless,  I  must  introduce  you  to  each  other." 


106  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

Surprised  and  touched  by  the  maternal  kindness  ot  her  man- 
ner,  (I  ought  not  to  have  been  surprised,  for  she  was  always 
kind,,  I  looked  up,  and  I  know  that  gratitude  and  sensibility 
passed  from  my  heart  to  my  eyes. 

"  I  must  claim  the  privilege  of  an  adopted  brother,"  said  he, 
extending  his  hand,  and  I  thought  he  smiled.  Perhaps  I  was 
mistaken.  His  countenance  had  a  way  of  suddenly  lighting 
up,  which  I  learned  to  compare  to  sunshine  breaking  through 
clouds.  The  hand  in  which  he  took  mine  was  so  white,  so  deli- 
cately moulded,  it  looked  as  if  it  might  have  belonged  to  a 
woman,  —  but  he  was  a  student,  the  heir  of  wealth,  not  the  son 
of  labor,  the  inheritor  of  the  primeval  curse.  It  is  a  trifle  to 
mention,  —  the  hand  of  an  intellectual  man,  —  but  I  had  been 
so  accustomed  to  the  large,  muscular  fingers  of  Mr.  Regulus, 
which  seemed  formed  to  wield  the  weapon  of  authority,  that  I 
could  not  but  notice  the  contrast. 

How  pleasantly,  how  delightfully  the  evening  passed  away ! 
I  sat  in  my  favorite  recess,  half  shaded  by  the  light  drapery 
of  the  window ;  while  Ernest  took  a  seat  at  his  mother's  side, 
and  Edith  occupied  a  low  ottoman  at  his  feet.  One  arm  was 
thrown  across  his  lap,  and  her  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  face  with 
an  expression  of  the  most  idolizing  affection.  And  all  the 
while  he  was  talking,  his  hand  passed  caressingly  over  her  fair 
flaxen  hair,  or  lingered  amidst  its  glistering  ringlets.  It  was  a 
beautiful  picture  of  sisterly  and  fraternal  love,  —  the  fairest  I 
had  ever  seen.  The  fairest !  it  was  the  first,  the  only  one.  I 
had  never  realized  before  the  exceeding  beauty  and  holiness  of 
this  tender  tie.  As  I  looked  upon  Edith  in  her  graceful,  en- 
dearing attitude,  so  expressive  of  dependence  and  love,  many 
a  sentence  descriptive  of  a  brother's  tenderness  floated  up  to 
the  surface  of  memory.  I  remembered  part  of  a  beautiful 
hymn,— 

"  Fair  mansions  in  my  Father's  house 

For  all  his  children  wait ; 

And  I,  your  elder  brother  go, 

To  open  wide  the  gate." 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  107 

The  Saviour  of  mankind  called  himself  our  brother,—* 
stamping  with  the  seal  of  divinity  the  dear  relationship. 

I  had  imagined  I  felt  for  Richard  Clyde  a  sister's  regard, 
No,  no !  Cold  were  my  sentiments  to  those  that  beamed  in 
Edith's  upturned  eyes. 

Ernest  described  his  travels,  his  life  abroad,  and  dwelt  on 
the  peculiarities  of  German  character,  its  high,  imaginative 
traits,  its  mysticism  and  superstition,  till  his  tongue  warmed 
into  enthusiasm,  —  and  one  of  his  hearers  at  least  felt  the 
inspiration  of  his  eloquence.  His  mother  had  said  he  was 
reserved !  I  began  to  think  I  did  not  know  the  right  meaning 
of  the  word.  If  he  paused  and  seemed  about  to  relapse  into 
silence,  Edith  would  draw  a  long  breath,  as  if  she  had  just  been 
inhaling  some  exhilarating  gas,  and  exclaim, — 

"  Oh !  do  go  on,  brother ;  it  is  so  long  since  we  have  heard 
you  talk  ;  it  is  such  a  luxury  to  hear  a  person  talk,  who  really 
says  something." 

"  I  never  care  about  talking,  unless  I  do  have  something  to 
say"  he  answered,  "  but  I  think  I  have  monopolized  attention 
long  enough.  As  a  guest,  I  have  a  right  to  be  entertained. 
Have  you  forgotten  my  love  for  music,  Edith  ?  " 

"  0  no !  I  remember  all  your  favorite  airs,  and  have  played 
them  a  thousand  times  at  least.  Do  you  wish  to  hear  me  now  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  do ;  I  have  heard  nothing  so  sweet  as  your 
voice,  dear  Edith,  since  I  heard  your  last  parting  song." 

He  rose  and  moved  the  harp  forward,  and  seated  her  at  the 
instrument. 

"  Does  not  Miss  Lynn  play  ?  "  he  asked,  running  his  fingers 
carelessly  over  the  glittering  strings. 

"  Who  is  Miss  Lynn  ?  "  repeated  Edith,  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

I  laughed  at  her  surprise  and  my  own.  It  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  heard  myself  called  so,  and  I  looked  round  involun- 
tarily to  see  who  and  where  "  Miss  Lynn "  was. 

"  Oh,  Gabriella  ! "  cried  Edith,  "  I  did  not  know  whom  you 
meant.  I  assure  you,  brother,  there  is  no  Miss  Lynn  here  ;  it 
is  Gabriella  —  our  Gabriella  —  that  is  her  name  ;  you  must  nol 
call  her  by  any  other." 


108  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  avail  myself  of  the  privilege  of  uttering 
so  charming  a  name.  Does  Miss  Gabriella  play?" 

"  No,  no,  that  is  not  right  yet,  Ernest ;  you  must  drop  the 
Miss.  Do  not  answer  him,  Gabriella,  till  he  knows  his  lesson 
better." 

"  Does  Gabriella  play  ?  " 

The  name  came  gravely  and  melodiously  from  his  tongue. 
The  distance  between  us  seemed  wonderfully  diminished  by  the 
mere  breathing  my  Christian  name. 

"  I  do  not,"  I  answered,  "  but  my  love  of  music  amounts  to  a 
passion.  I  am  never  so  happy  as  when  listening  to  Edith's 
voice  and  harp." 

"  She  has  never  taken  lessons,"  said  Edith ;  "  if  she  had,  she 
would  have  made  a  splendid  musician,  I  am  confident  she  would. 
Dear  mother,  when  we  go  to  the  city  next  winter,  Gabriella 
must  go  with  us,  and  she  must  have  music-masters,  and  we  will 
play  and  sing  together.  She  has  taught  in  that  old  academy 
long  enough,  I  am  sure  she  has." 

"  I  think  Gabriella  has  been  taking  some  very  important  les- 
sons herself,  while  teaching  in  the  old  academy,  which  chances 
to  be  quite  new,  at  least  her  part  of  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood  ;  "  but  I  have  no  intention  of  suffering  her  to  remain  there 
too  long ;  she  has  borne  the  discipline  admirably." 

As  I  turned  a  grateful  glance  to  Mrs.  Linwood,  my  heart 
throbbing  with  delight  at  the  prospect  of  emancipation,  I  met 
the  eyes,  the  earnest,  perusing  eyes  of  her  son.  I  drew  back 
further  into  the  shadow  of  the  curtain,  but  the  risen  moon  was 
shining  upon  my  face,  and  silvering  the  lace  drapery  that  floated 
round  me.  Edith  whispered  something  to  her  brother,  glancing 
towards  me  her  smiling  eyes,  then  sweeping  her  fingers  lightly 
over  the  harp-strings,  began  one  of  the  songs  that  Ernest  loved. 

Sweetly  as  she  always  sang,  I  had  never  heard  her  sing  so 
sweelly  before.  It  seemed  indeed  "  Joy's  ecstatic  trial,"  so  airily 
her  fingers  sparkled  over  the  chords,  so  clearly  and  cheerily 
she  warbled  each  animated  note. 

"  I  know  you  love  sad  songs  best,  Ernest,  but  I  cannot  sing 
them  to-night,"  she  said,  pushing  the  instrument  from  her. 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  109 

"  There  is  a  little  German  air,  which  I  think  I  may  recol- 
lect," said  he,  drawing  the  harp  towards  him.  . 

"  You,  Ernest ! "  cried  Edith  and  his  mother  in  the  sama 
breath,  "  you  play  on  the  harp  !  " 

He  smiled  at  their  astonishment. 

"  I  took  lessons  while  in  Germany.  A  fellow-student  taught 
me,  —  a  glorious  musician,  and  a  native  of  the  land  of  music,— • 
Italy.  There,  the  very  atmosphere  breathes  of  harmony." 

The  very  first  note  he  called  forth,  I  felt  a  master's  touch 
was  on  the  chords,  and  leaning  forward  I  held  my  breath  to 
listen.  The  strains  rose  rich  and  murmuring  like  an  ocean 
breeze,  then  died  away  soft  as  wave  falls  on  wave  in  the  moon- 
light night.  He  sang  a  simple,  pathetic  air,  with  such  deep 
feeling,  such  tender,  passionate  emotion,  that  tears  involuntarily 
moistened  my  eyes.  All  the  slumbering  music  of  my  being 
responded.  It  was  thus  /  could  sing,  —  /  could  play,  —  I 
knew  I  could.  And  when  he  rose  and  resumed  his  seat  by  his 
mother,  I  could  scarcely  restrain  myself  from  touching  the 
came  chords,  —  the  chords  still  quivering  from  his  magic  hand. 

"O  brother!"  exclaimed  Edith,  "what  a  charming  sur- 
prise !  I  never  heard  any  thing  so  thrillingly  sweet !  You  do 
not  know  how  happy  you  have  made  me.  One  more,  —  onlj 
one  more,  —  Ernest." 

"  You  forget  your  brother  is  from  a  long  and  weary  journey 
Edith,  and  we  have  many  an  evening  before  us,  I  trust,  of  do- 
mestic joy  like  this,"  said  Mrs.  Lin  wood,  ringing  for  the  night- 
lamps.  "  To-morrow  is  the  hallowed  rest-day  of  the  Lord, 
and  our  hearts,  so  long  restless  from  expectation,  will  feel  the 
grateful  calm  of  assured  happiness.  One  who  returns  after  a 
long  journey  to  the  bosom  of  home,  in  health  and  safety,  has 
peculiar  calls  for  gratitude  and  praise.  He  should  bless  the 
God  of  the  traveller  for  having  given  his  angels  charge  con- 
cerning him,  and  shielding  him  from  unknown  dangers.  You 
feel  aU  this,  my  son." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  anxious,  questioning  glance.  She 
feared  that  the  mysticism  of  Germany  might  have  obscured 
the  brightness  of  his  Christian  faith. 


110  ERNEST    LINWOOt>. 

"  I  am  grateful,  my  mother,"  he  answered  with  deep  serious- 
ness, "  grateful  to  God  for  the  blessings  of  this  hour.  This  has 
been  one  of  the  happiest  evenings  of  my  life.  Surely  it  is 
worth  years  of  absence  to  be  welcomed  to  such  a  home,  and  by 
such  pure,  loving  hearts,  —  hearts  in  which  I  can  trust  without 
hypocrisy  and  without  guile." 

"  Believe  all  hearts  true,  my  son,  till  you  prove  them  false." 

"  Faith  is  a  gift  of  heaven,  not  an  act  of  human  will,"  he 
replied.  Then  I  remembered  what  Richard  Clyde  had  said 
of  him,  and  I  thought  of  it  again  when  alone  in  my  chamber. 

Edith  peeped  in  through  the  door  that  divided  our  rooms. 

"  Have  we  not  had  a  charming  evening  ?  "  she  asked. 

" Yes,  very"  I  answered. 

"  How  fond  you  are  of  that  little  adverb  very"  she  ex- 
claimed with  a  laugh;  "you  make  it  sound  so  expressively. 
Well,  is  not  Ernest  very  interesting  ?  " 

"  Very." 

"  The  most  interesting  person  you  ever  saw  ?  " 

"  You  question  me  too  closely,  Edith.  It  will  not  do  for  me 
to  speak  as  extravagantly  as  you  do.  I  am  not  his  sister,  and 
the  praise  that  falls  so  sweetly  from  your  tongue,  would  sound 
bold  and  inappropriate  from  mine.  I  never  knew  before  how 
strong  a  sister's  love  could  be,  Edith.  Surely  you  can  never 
feel  a  stronger  passion." 

"  Never,"  she  cried  earnestly,  and  coming  in,  she  sat  down 
on  the  side  of  the  bed  and  unbound  the  ribbon  from  her  slender 
waist.  "  The  misfortune  that  has  set  me  apart  from  my  youth- 
ful companions  will  prevent  me  from  indulging  in  the  dreams 
of  love.  I  know  my  mother  does  not  wish  me  to  marry,  and  I 
have  never  thought  of  the  possibility  of  leaving  her.  I  would 
not  dare  to  give  this  frail  frame  and  too  tenderly  indulged  heart 
into  the  keeping  of  one  who  could  never,  never  bestow  the 
love,  the  boundless  love,  which  has  surrounded  me  from  infancy, 
like  the  firmament  of  heaven.  I  have  been  sought  in  marriage 
more  than  once,  it  might  be  for  reputed  wealth  or  for  imagined 
charms  ;  but  when  I  compared  my  would-be  lovers  to  Ernest, 
they  faded  into  such  utter  insignificance,  I  could  scarcely  par 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  Ill 

don  their  presumption.  I  do  not  think  he  has  ever  loved  him  • 
self.  I  do  not  think  he  has  ever  seen  one  worthy  of  his  love. 
I  believe  it  would  kill  me,  Gabriella,  to  know  that  he  loved 
another  better  than  myself." 

For  the  first  time  I  thought  Edith  selfish,  and  that  she  carried 
the  romance  of  sisterly  affection  too  far. 

"  You  wish  him,  then,  to  be  an  old  bachelor !  "  said  I,  smiling. 

"  Oh !  do  n't  apply  to  him  such  a  horrid  name.  I  did  not 
think  of  that.  Good  night,  darling.  Mamma  would  scold  me,  if 
she  knew  I  was  up  talking  nonsense,  instead  of  being  in  bed  and 
asleep,  like  a  good,  obedient  child."  She  kissed  me  and  retired 
but  it  was  long  before  I  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  next  morning,  as  I  was  coming  up  the  steps  with  my 
white  muslin  apron  full  of  gathered  flowers,  I  met  Ernest  Lin- 
wood.  I  was  always  an  early  riser.  Dear,  faithful  Peggy 
had  taught  me  this  rural  habit,  and  I  have  reason  to  bless  her 
for  it. 

"  I  see  where  you  get  your  roses,"  said  he ;  I  knew  he  did 
not  mean  the  roses  in  my  apron,  and  those  to  which  he  alluded 
grew  brighter  as  he  spoke. 

"  Am  I  indebted  to  you  for  the  beautiful  flowers  in  my  own 
apartment  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  turned  back  and  entered  the  house 
with  me,  "  or  was  it  Edith's  sisterly  hand  placed  them  there  ?  " 

"  Are  you  pleased  with  them  ?  "  I  said,  with  a  childish  de- 
light. It  seemed  to  me  a  great  thing  that  he  had  noticed  them 
at  all.  "  As  Edith  is  lame,  she  indulges  me  in  carrying  out  her 
own  sweet  tastes.  I  assure  you  I  esteem  it  an  inestimable  priv- 
ilege." 

"  You  love  flowers,  then?" 

"  O  yes,  passionately.  I  have  almost  an  idolatrous  love  for 
them." 

"  And  does  it  not  make  you  sad  to  see  them  wither  away,  in 
spite  of  your  passionate  love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  others  bloom  in  their  stead.  'T  is  but  a  change 
from  blossom  to  blossom." 

"  You  deceive  yourself,"  he  said,  and  there  was  something 
chilling  in  his  tone,  "  it  is  not  love  you  feel  for  them,  for  that  is 
unchangeable,  and  admits  but  one  object." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  human  love,"  I  answered,  busily 
arranging  the  flowers  in  their  vases,  in  which  I  had  already 

(112) 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  113 

placed  some  icy  cold  water.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  loom, 
stopping  occasionally  to  observe  the  process,  and  making  some 
passing  remark.  I  was  astonished  at  finding  myself  so  much  at 
ease.  I  suppose  the  awe  he  inspired,  like  the  fear  of  ghosts, 
subsided  at  the  dawning  of  morning.  There  was  something  so 
exhilarating  in  the  pure  fresh  air,  in  the  dewy  brightness  of  the 
hour,  in  the  exercise  of  roaming  through  a  wilderness  of  sweets, 
that  my  spirits  were  too  elastic  to  be  held  down.  He  seemed 
to  take  an  interest  in  watching  me,  and  even  altered  the  posi- 
tion of  some  white  roses,  which  he  said  wanted  a  shading  of 
green. 

"  And  what  are  these  beautiful  clusters  laid  aside  for  ?  "  he 
asked,  taking  up  some  which  I  had  deposited  on  the  table. 

"  I  thought,"  I  answered,  after  a  slight  hesitation,  "  that 
Edith  would  like  them  for  your  room." 

"  Then  it  is  only  to  please  Edith  you  place  them  there,  not 
to  please  yourself?  " 

"  I  should  not  dare  to  do  it  to  please  myself,"  I  hastily  re- 
plied. 

I  thought  I  must  have  said  something  wrong,  for  he  turned 
away  with  a  peculiar  smile.  I  colored  with  vexation,  and  was 
glad  that  Edith  came  in  to  divert  his  attention  from  me. 

Nothing  could  be  more  gentle  and  affectionate  than  his  greet- 
ing. He  went  up  and  kissed  her,  as  if  she  were  a  little  «hild, 
put  his  arm  round  her,  and  taking  one  of  her  crutches,  mate  her 
lean  on  him  for  support.  I  understood  something  of  the  *ecret 
of  her  idolatry. 

Where  was  the  impenetrable  reserve  of  which  his  rxither 
had  spoken  ? 

I  had  not  yet  seen  him  in  society.  As  he  talked  with  v,dith, 
his  head  slightly  bent  and  his  profile  turned  towards  me,  I  oould 
look  at  him  unobserved,  and  I  was  struck  even  more  than  the 
evening  before  with  the  transparent  paleness  of  his  completion. 
Dark,  delicate,  and  smooth  as  alabaster,  it  gave  an  air  of  *%x- 
treme  refinement  and  sensibility  to  his  face,  without  detracting 
from  its  manliness  or  intellectual  power.  It  was  a  face  to 
peruse,  to  study,  to  think  of,  —  it  was  a  baffling,  haunting  face. 
It 


114  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

Hieroglyphics  of  thought  were  there,  too  mysterious  for  the 
common  eye  to  interpret.  It  was  a  dark  lantern,  flashing  light 
before  it,  itself  all  in  shadow. 

"It  is  a  shame  that  you  must  leave  us,  Gabriella,"  said 
Edith,  when  after  breakfast  her  pony  was  brought  to  the  door. 
"  Ernest,"  added  she,  turning  to  him,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  ara 
come.  You  must  persuade  mamma  to  lay  her  commands  on 
Gabriella,  and  not  permit  her  to  make  such  a  slave  of  herself 
I  feel  guilty  to  be  at  home  doing  nothing  and  she  toiling  six 
long  hours." 

"  It  is  Gabriella's  own  choice,"  cried  Mrs.  Linwood,  a  slight 
flush  crossing  her  cheek.  "  Is  it  not,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Your  wisdom  guided  my  choice,  dear  madam,"  I  answered, 
"  and  I  thank  you  for  it." 

"  It  would  seem  more  natural  to  think  of  Miss  —  of  Gabriel- 
la  —  as  a  pupil,  than  a  teacher,"  observed  Ernest,  "  if  youth 
is  the  criterion  by  which  we  judge." 

"  I  am  seventeen  —  in  my  eighteenth  year,"  said  I  eagerly, 
urged  by  an  unaccountable  desire  that  he  should  not  think  me 
too  young. 

"  A  very  grave  and  reverend  age  ! "  said  he  sarcastically. 

I  thought  Mrs.  Linwood  looked  unusually  serious,  and  fearing 
I  had  said  something  wrong,  I  hastened  to  depart.  Dearly  as  I 
loved  my  benefactress,  it  was  not  "  that  perfect  love  which 
casteth  out  fear."  As  her  benevolence  was  warm,  her  justice 
was  inflexible.  Hers  was  the  kind  hand,  but  the  firm  nerves 
that  could  sustain  a  friend,  while  the  knife  of  the  surgeon 
entered  the  quivering  flesh.  She  shrunk  not  from  inflicting 
pain,  if  it  was  for  another's  good ;  but  if  she  wounded  with 
one  hand,  she  strewed  balm  with  the  other.  Her  influence  was 
strong,  controlling,  almost  irresistible.  Like  the  sunshine  that 
forced  the  wind-blown  traveller  to  throw  aside  his  cloak,  the 
warmth  of  her  kindness  penetrated,  but  it  also  compelled. 

I  had  a  growing  conviction  that  though  she  called  me  her 
adopted  child,  she  did  not  wish  me  to  presume  upon  her  kind- 
ness so  far  as  to  look  upon  her  son  in  the  familiar  light  of  a 
brother.  There  was  no  fear  of  my  transgressing  her  wishes  in 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  115 

this  respect.  I  had  already  lost  my  dread,  —  my  awe  wa# 
melting  away,  but  I  could  no  more  approach  him  with  famil- 
iarity than  if  fourfold  bars  of  gold  surrounded  him.  I  had 
another  conviction,  that  she  encouraged  and  wished  me  to 
return  the  attachment  of  Richard  Clyde.  Her  urgent  advice 
had  induced  me  to  accept  the  proffered  correspondence  with 
him,  —  a  compliance  which  I  afterwards  bitterly  regretted.  He 
professed  to  write  only  as  a  friend,  according  to  the  bond,  but 
amid  the  evergreen  wreath  of  friendship,  he  concealed  the 
glowing  flowers  of  love.  He  was  to  return  home  in  a  few 
weeks.  The  commencement  was  approaching,  which  was  to 
liberate  him  from  scholastic  fetters  and  crown  him  with  the 
honors  of  manhood. 

"  Why,"  thought  I,  "  should  Richard  make  me  dread  his 
return,  when  I  would  gladly  welcome  him  with  joy  ?  Why  in 
wishing  to  be  more  than  a  friend,  does  he  make  me  desire  that 
he  should  be  less  ?  And  now  Ernest  Linwood  is  come  back, 
of  whom  he  so  strangely  warned  me,  methinks  I  dread  him 
more  than  ever." 

Mrs.  Linwood  would  attend  the  commencement.  I  had 
heard  her  tell  Richard  so.  I  had  heard  her  repeat  her  inten- 
tion since  her  son's  return.  He,  of  course,  would  feel  interested 
in  meeting  his  old  class  mates  and  friends.  They  would  all  feel 
interested  in  seeing  and  hearing  how  Richard  Clyde  sustained 
his  proud  distinction. 

"  Gabriella,  especially,"  said  Edith  with  a  smile,  which, 
sweet  as  it  was,  I  thought  extremely  silly.  I  blushed  with 
vexation,  when  Ernest,  lifting  his  grave  eyes  from  his  book, 
asked  who  was  Richard  Clyde. 

"  You  have  seen  him  when  he  was  quite  a  youth,"  answered 
his  mother,  "but  have  probably  forgotten  him.  He  is  a  young 
man  of  great  promise,  and  has  been  awarded  the  first  honors 
of  his  class.  I  feel  a  deep  interest  in  him  for  his  own  sake, 
arrd  moreover  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  my  introduction  to  our 
own  Gabriella." 

"  Indeed !  "  repeated  her  son,  and  glancing  towards  me,  hit 
countenance  lighted  up  with  a  sudden  look  of  intelligence. 
8 


116  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

Why  need  Mrs.  Linwood  have  said  that?  Why  need  she 
have  associated  him  so  intimately  and  significantly  with  me? 
And  why  could  I  not  keep  down  the  rising  crimson,  which 
might  be  attributed  to  another  source  than  embanassment?  I 
opened  my  lips  to  deny  any  interest  in  Richard  beyond  that  of 
friendly  acquaintanceship ;  but  Mrs.  Linwood's  mild,  serene,  yet 
resolute  eyes,  beat  mine  down  and  choked  my  eager  utterance. 

Her  eyes  said  as  clearly  as  words  could  say,  "  what  matters 
it  to  my  son,  how  little  or  how  great  an  interest  you  feel  in 
Richard  Clyde  or  any  other  person  ?  " 

"  You  must  accompany  us,  Gabriella,"  she  said,  with  great 
kindness.  "  You  have  never  witnessed  this  gathering  of  the 
literati  of  our  State,  and  I  know  of  no  one  who  would  enjoy  i, 
more.  It  will  be  quite  an  intellectual  banquet." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  cannot  accept  the  invitation,"  I  an 
swered,  suppressing  a  sigh,  not  of  disappointment  at  the  neces- 
sity of  refusal,  but  of  mortification  at  the  inference  that  would 
probably  be  drawn  from  this  conversation.  "  My  vacation 
does  not  begin  till  afterwards." 

"I  think  I  can  intercede  with  Mr.  Regulus  to  release  you," 
said  Mrs.  Linwood. 

"  Thank  you,  —  I  do  not  wish  to  go,  —  indeed  I  would  much 
rather  not,  unless,"  I  added,  fearful  I  had  spoken  too  energeti- 
cally, "  you  have  an  urgent  desire  that  I  should." 

"  I  wish  very  much  to  make  you  happy,  and  I  think  you 
would  enjoy  far  more  than  you  now  anticipate.  But  there  is 
time  enough  to  decide.  There  will  be  a  fortnight  hence." 

"  But  the  dresses,  mamma,"  cried  Edith ;  "  you  know  she 
will  need  new  dresses  if  she  goes,  and  they  will  require  some 
time,  to  prepare." 

"As  Gabriella  will  not  come  out,  as  it  is  called,  till  next 
winter,"  replied  Mrs.  Linwood,  "  it  is  not  a  matter  of  so  much 
consequence  as  you  imagine.  Simplicity  is  much  more  charm- 
ing than  ornament  in  the  dress  of  a  very  young  girl." 

"  J  agree  with  you,  mother,"  observed  Ernest,  without  lifting 
his  eyes  from  his  book,  "  especially  where  artificial  ornaments 
are  superfluous." 


EHNEST     LINWOOD.  117 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  listening  to  our  remarks  about 
dress,"  said  Edith.  "This  is  something  quite  new,  brother." 

"I  am  not  listening,  and  yet  I  hear.  So  be  very  careful 
not  to  betray  yourself  in  my  presence.  But  perhaps  I  had 
better  retire  to  the  library,  then  you  can  discuss  with  more 
freedom  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet  and  the  fascinations  of 
dress." 

"  No,  —  no.  We  have  nothing  to  say  that  you  may  not 
hear  ;  "  but  he  rose  and  withdrew.  Did  he  mean  to  imply  that 
"artificial  ornaments  would  be  superfluous"  to  me?  No,  —  it 
was  only  a  general  remark,  and  it  would  be  vanity  of  vanities 
to  apply  it  to  myself. 

"  1  want  you  to  do  one  thing  to  gratify  me,  dear  Gabriella," 
continued  Edith.  "  Please  lay  aside  your  mourning  and 
assume  a  more  cheerful  garb.  You  have  worn  it  two  long 
years.  Only  think  how  long !  It  will  be  so  refreshing  to  see 
you  in  white  or  delicate  colors." 

I  looked  down  at  my  mourning  garments,  and  all  the  sorrow 
typified  by  their  dark  hue  rolled  back  upon  my  heart.  The 
awful  scenes  they  commemorated,  —  the  throes  of  agony  which 
rent  away  life  from  the  strong,  the  slow  wasting  of  the  feeble, 
the  solemnity  of  death,  the  gloom  of  the  grave,  the  anguish  of 
bereavement,  the  abandonment  of  desolation  that  followed,— 
all  came  back.  I  lived  them  all  over  in  one  passing  moment. 

"  I  never,  never  wish  to  lay  aside  the  badges  of  mourning," 
I  exclaimed  ;  and,  covering  my  face  with  my  handkerchief,  tears 
gushed  unrestrainedly.  "  I  shall  never  cease  to  mourn  for  my 
mother." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  grieve  you.  Gabriella,"  cried  Edith,  put- 
ting her  arms  round  me  with  sympathizing  tenderness.  "  I 
thought  time  had  softened  your  anguish,  and  that  you  could 
bear  to  speak  of  it  now." 

"  And  so  she  ought,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  in  a  tone  of  mild 
rebuke.  "  Time  is  God's  ministering  angel,  commissioned  to 
bind  up  the  wounds  of  sorrow  and  to  heal  the  bleeding  heart. 
The  same  natural  law  which  bids  flowers  to  spring  up  and 
adorn  the  grave-sod  causes  the  blossoms  of  'aope  to  bloom  again 


1.1 8  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

in  the  bosom  of  bereavement.  Memory  should  be  immortal, 
but  mourning  should  last  but  a  season." 

"  I  meant  that  I  never  should  forget  her,"  I  cried,  my  tears 
flowing  gently  under  her  subduing  accents.  "  Dear  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood,  you  have  made  it  impossible  for  me  always  to  mourn. 
Yet  there  are  times,  when  her  remembrance  comes  over  me 
with  such  a  power  that  I  am  borne  down  by  it  to  the  level  of 
my  first  deep  anguish.  These  are  not  frequent  now.  I  some 
times  fear  there  is  danger  of  my  being  too  happy  after  sustain 
ing  such  a  loss." 

"  Beware,  my  dear  child,  of  cherishing  the  morbid  sensibility 
which  believes  happiness  inconsistent  with  the  remembrance  of 
departed  friends.  Life  to  your  mother,  since  your  recollection  of 
her,  was  a  sad  boon.  As  she  possessed  the  faith,  and  died  the 
death  of  the  Christian,  you  are  authorized  to  believe  that  she 
now  possesses  an  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  Can 
you  take  in  the  grandeur  of  the  idea,  —  a  weight  of  glory  ? 
Contrast  it  with  the  burden  of  care  under  which  you  saw  her 
crushed,  and  you  will  then  be  willing  to  exchange  mourning  for 
the  oil  of  joy,  and  the  spirit  of  heaviness  for  the  garment  of 
praise." 

"  I  am  willing,  dear  Mrs.  Linwood,  my  kindest  friend,  my 
second  mother.  I  will  in  all  things  be  guided  by  your  counsel 
and  moulded  by  your  will.  No,  oh  no,  I  would  not  for  worlds 
rob  my  mother  of  the  glorious  inheritance  purchased  by  a  Sav- 
iour's blood.  But  tell  me  one  thing,  —  must  we  all  pass  through 
tribulation  before  entering  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?  Must  we 
all  travel  with  bleeding  feet  the  thorny  path  of  suffering,  before 
being  admitted  into  the  presence  of  God  ?  " 

"  The  Bible  must  answer  you,  my  child.  Do  you  remember, 
in  the  apocalyptic  vision,  when  it  was  asked,  '  What  are  these, 
which  are  arrayed  in  white  robes  ?  and  whence  come  they  ? ' 
St  was  answered,  '  These  are  they  which  came  out  of  great 
iribulation,  and  have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white 
in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.'  " 

"  Therefore  are  they  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  him 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  119 

cUy  and  night  in  his  temple ;  and  he  that  sitteth  on  the  throne 
shall  dwell  among  them." 

I  remembered  them  well. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said,  "  that  is  not  all." 

"  They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more,  neither 
shall  the  sun  light  on  them,  nor  any  heat." 

She  paused,  and  her  voice  became  tremulous  from  deep 
emotion. 

"  One  verse  more,"  I  cried,  "  only  one." 

"  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed 
them,  and  shall  lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters  ;  and 
God  shall  wipe  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.  All  words  seemed 
vain  and  sacrilegious  after  this  sublimest  language  of  reve- 
lation. 

At  length  I  said,  — 

"  Let  me  wear  white,  the  livery  of  my  mother,  in  heaven. 
'T  is  a  sin  to  mourn  for  her  whose  tears  the  hand  of  God  has 
wiped  away." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

ONE  week,  and  another  week  passed  by,  and  every  evening 
was  as  charming  as  the  first  of  the  return  of  Ernest  Lin- 
wood.  In  that  fortnight  were  compressed  the  social  and  intel- 
lectual joy*  of  a  lifetime.  Music,  reading,  and  conversation 
filled  the  measure  of  the  evening  hours.  Such  music,  such 
reading,  and  such  conversation  as  I  never  heard  before.  I  had 
been  accustomed  to  read  aloud  a  great  deal  to  my  own  dear 
mother,  to  Mrs.  Linwood,  and  to  my  young  pupils  also,  and  I 
bad  reason  to  think  I  could  read  remarkably  well ;  but  I  could 
Dot  read  like  Ernest,  —  I  never  heard  any  one  that  could.  He 
infused  his  own  soul  into  the  soul  of  the  author,  and  brought 
out  his  deepest  meanings.  When  he  read  poetry  I  sat  like  one 
entranced,  bound  by  the  double  spell  of  genius  and  music. 
Mrs.  Linwood  could  sew ;  Edith  could  sew  or  net,  but  I  could 
do  nothing  but  listen.  I  could  feel  the  blood  tingling  to  my 
finger  ends,  the  veins  throbbing  in  my  temples,  and  the  color 
coming  and  going  in  my  cheek. 

"  You  love  poetry,"  said  he  once,  pausing,  and  arresting  my 
fascinated  glance. 

"  Love  it,"  I  exclaimed,  sighing  in  the  fulness  of  delight,  "  it 
is  the  passion  of  my  soul." 

"  You  have  three  passions,  music,  flowers,  and  poetry,"  said 
he,  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  mock  the  extravagance  of  my 
language,  "  which  is  the  regal  one,  the  passion  of  passions  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  imagine  the  existence  of  one  without  the 
other,"  I  answered,  "  their  harmony  is  so  entire ;  flowers  are 
silent  poetry,  and  poetry  is  written  music." 

"And  music ?"  he  asked. 
U20) 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  121 

B  Is  (he  breath  of  heaven,  the  language  of  angels.  As  the 
%oice  of  Echo  lingered  in  the  woods,  where  she  loved  to  wander, 
when  her  beauteous  frame  had  vanished,  so  music  remains  to 
show  the  angel  nature  we  have  lost." 

I  blushed  at  having  said  so  much,  but  the  triune  passion 
warmed  my  soul. 

"  Gabriella  is  a  poetess  herself,"  said  Edith,  "  and  may  well 
speak  of  the  magic  of  numbers.  She  has  a  portfolio,  filled  with 
papers  written,  like  Ezekiel's  scroll,  within  and  without.  I  wish 
you  would  let  me  get  it,  Gabriella,  —  do." 

"  Impossible ! "  I  answered,  "  I  never  wrote  but  one  poem  foi 
exhibition,  and  the  experience  of  that  hour  was  sufficient  for  a 
lifetime." 

"  You  were  but  a  child  then,  Gabriella.  Mr.  Regulus  would 
give  it  a  very  different  reception  now,  I  know  he  would,"  said 
Edith. 

"  If  it  is  a  child's  story,  will  you  not  relate  it  ?  "  asked  Ernest ; 
u  you  have  excited  my  curiosity." 

"  Curiosity,  brother,  I  thought  you  possessed  none." 

"  Interest  is  a  better  word.  If  I  understand  aright,  the  bud- 
tfngs  of  Gabriella's  genius  met  with  an  untimely  blight." 

I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  I  felt  in  an  exceedingly  ingenuous 
mood,  and  I  related  this  episode  in  my  childish  history  without 
reserve.  I  touched  lightly  on  the  championship  of  Richard 
Clyde,  but  I  was  obliged  to  introduce  it.  I  had  forgotten  that 
he  was  associated  with  the  narration,  or  I  should  have  been 
silent. 

"  This  youthful  knight,  and  the  hero  of  commencement  day 
are  one.  then,"  observed  Ernest.  "  He  is  a  fortunate  youth,  with 
the  myrtle  and  the  laurel  both  entwining  his  brows  ;  you  must 
be  proud  of  your  champion." 

"  I  am  grateful  to  him,"  I  replied,  resolved  to  make  a  bold 
effort  to  remove  the  impression  I  knew  be  had  received.  Mrs. 
Linwood  was  not  present,  or  I  could  not  have  spoken  as  I  did. 
u  He  defended  me  because  he  thought  I  was  oppressed  ;  he  be- 
friended me  because  my  friends  were  few.  He  has  the  gener- 
ous spirit  of  chivalry  which  cannot  see  wrong  without  seeking 


122  ERNEST     UNWOOD. 

to  redress  it,  or  suffering  without  wishing  to  relieve  it  I  am 
under  unspeakable  obligations  to  him,  for  he  it  was  who  jpoke 
kindly  of  the  obscure  little  girl  to  your  mother  and  sister,  and 
obtained  for  me  the  priceless  blessing  of  their  love." 

"  I  dare  say  they  feel  very  grateful  to  him,  likewise,"  said  he, 
in  a  tone  of  genuine  feeling.  "  I  acknowledge  my  share  of  the 
obligation.  But  is  he  so  disinterested  as  to  claim  no  recom- 
pense, or  does  he  find  that  chivalry,  like  goodness,  is  its  own  ex- 
ceeding great  reward  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  regarded  him  as  a  brother,  till  now  Edith  ha? 
convinced  me  I  am  mistaken." 

"  How  so  ?  "  he  asked,  with  so  peculiar  an  expression,  I  for- 
got what  I  was  going  to  say. 

"  How  so  ?  "  he  repeated,  while  Edith  leaned  towards  him 
and  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

"  By  showing  me  how  strong  and  fervent  a  sister's  love  can 
be." 

His  eyes  flashed ;  they  looked  like  fountains  of  light,  full  to 
overflowing.  His  arm  involuntarily  encircled  Edith,  and  a 
smile,  beautiful  as  a  woman's,  curled  his  lips. 

"  How  he  does  love  her  !  "  thought  I ;  "  strong  indeed  must 
be  the  counter  charm,  that  can  rival  hers." 

I  had  never  seen  his  spirits  so  light  as  they  were  the  remain- 
der of  the  evening.  They  rose  even  to  gaiety ;  and  again  I 
wondered  what  had  become  of  the  reserve  and  moodiness  whose 
dark  shadow  had  preceded  his  approach. 

"  We  are  so  happy  now,"  said  Edith,  when  we  were  alone, 
*  I  dread  the  interruption  of  company.  Ernest  does  not  care 
for  it,  and  if  it  be  of  an  uncongenial  kind,  he  wraps  himself  in 
a  mantle  of  reserve,  that  neither  sun  nor  wind  can  unfold. 
After  commencement,  our  house  will  be  overflowing  with  city 
friends.  They  will  return  with  us,  and  we  shall  not  probably 
be  alone  again  for  the  whole  summer." 

She  sighed  at  the  anticipation,  and  I  echoed  the  sound.  I 
was  somebody  now ;  but  what  a  nobody  I  should  dwindle  into, 
in  comparison  with  the  daughters  of  wealth  and  fashion  who 
would  gather  at  Grandison  Place  1 


EBNEST    LINWOOD.  123 

u  Ernest  must  like  you  very  much,  Gabriella,  or  he  rrould 
not  show  the  interest  he  does  in  all  that  concerns  you.  You  do 
not  know  what  a  compliment  he  pays  you,  because  you  have  not 
seen  him  in  company  with  other  young  girls.  I  have  some- 
times felt  quite  distressed  at  his  indifference  when  they  have 
been  my  guests.  He  has  such  a  contempt  for  affectation  and 
display,  that  he  cannot  entirely  conceal  u.  He  is  not  apt  to 
express  his  opinion  of  any  one,  but  there  are  indirect  ways  of 
discovering  it.  I  found  him  this  morning  in  the  library,  stand- 
ing before  that  beautiful  picture  of  the  Italian  flower  girl,  which 
you  admire  so  much.  He  was  so  absorbed,  that  he  did  not  per- 
ceive my  entrance,  till  I  stole  behind  him  and  laid  my  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  '  Do  you  not  see  a  likeness  ? '  he  asked.  '  To 
whom?'  'To  Gabriella.'  'To  Gabriella!'  I  repeated. 
'  Yes,  it  is  like  her,  but  I  never  observed  it  before.'  '  A  very 
striking  resemblance,'  he  said,  '  only  she  has  more  mind  in 
her  face.' " 

"  That  enchanting  picture  like  me  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  impossi- 
ble!  There  is,  there  can  be  no  likeness.  It  is  nothing  but 
association.  He  knows  I  am  the  flower-girl  of  the  house,  and 
that  is  the  reason  he  thought  of  me." 

I  tried  to  speak  with  indifference,  but  my  voice  trembled 
with  delight. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  came  in  from  the  garden,  all  laden 
with  flowers,  an  irresistible  impulse  drew  me  to  the  library.  It 
was  very  early.  The  hush  of  repose  still  lingered  over  the 
household,  and  that  particular  apartment,  in  which  the  silent 
eloquence  of  books,  paintings,  and  statues  hung  like  a  solemn 
spell,  seemed  in  such  deep  quietude,  I  started  at  the  light  echo 
of  my  own  footsteps. 

I  stole  with  guilty  consciousness  towards  the  picture,  in  whose 
lineaments  the  fastidious  eye  of  Ernest  Linwood  had  traced  a 
similitude  to  mine.  They  were  all  engraven  on  my  memory, 
but  now  thoy  possessed  a  new  fascination  ;  and  I  stood  before  it, 
gazing  into  the  soft,  dark  depths  of  the  eyes,  m  which  innocent 
mildness  and  bashful  tenderness  were  mingled  like  the  dare- 
obscure  of  au  Italian  moonlight ;  gazing  on  the  dawning  smile 


124  EENEST    LINWOOD. 

that  seemed  to  play  over  the  beautiful  and  glowing  lips,  and  the 
bright,  rich,  dark  hair,  so  carelessly,  gracefully  arranged  you 
could  almost  see  the  balmy  breezes  of  her  native  clime  rustling 
amid  the  silken  tresses ;  on  the  charming  contour  of  the  head 
and  neck,  slightly  turned  as  if  about  to  look  back  and  give  a 
parting  glance  at  the  garden  she  had  reluctantly  quitted. 

As  I  thus  stood,  with  my  hands  loaded  with  blossoms,  a 
flower  basket  suspended  from  my  arm,  and  a  straw  hat  such  as 
shepherdesses  wear,  on  my  head,  —  my  garden  costume,  —  in- 
voluntarily imitatiiig  the  attitude  of  the  lovely  flower  girl,  the 
door,  which  had  been  left  ajar,  silently  opened,  and  Ernest  Lin- 
wood  entered. 

Had  I  been  detected  in  the  act  of  stealing  or  counterfeiting 
money,  I  could  not  have  felt  more  intense  shame.  He  knew 
what  brought  me  there.  I  saw  it  in  his  penetrating  eye,  his 
half-suppressed  smile;  and,  ready  to  sink  with  mortification,  I 
covered  my  face  with  the  roses  I  held  in  my  hands. 

"  Do  you  admire  the  picture  ?  "  he  asked,  advancing  to  where 
I  stood  ;  "  do  you  perceive  the  resemblance  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head  without  answering ;  I  was  too  much  discon- 
certed to  speak.  What  would  he  think  of  my  despicable  van- 
ity, my  more  than  childish  foolishness? 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  we  have  congenial  tastes,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile  in  his  voice.  "  I  came  on  purpose  to  gaze  on  that  charm- 
ing representation  of  youth  and  innocence,  without  dreaming 
that  its  original  was  by  it." 

"  Original !  "  I  repeated.  "  Surely  you  do  mock  me,  —  't  is 
but  a  fancy  sketch,  —  and  in  nought  but  youth  and  flowers  re- 
sembles me." 

"  We  cannot  see  ourselves,  and  it  is  well  we  cannot.  The 
image  reflected  from  the  mirror  is  but  a  cold,  faint  shadow  of 
the  living,  breathing  soul.  But  why  this  derp  confusion,  —  that 
averted  face  and  downcast  eye  ?  Have  I  offended  by  my  intru- 
eion?  Do  you  wish  me  to  withdraw,  and  yield  to  you  the 
privilege  of  solitary  admiration  ?  " 

"  It  is  I  who  am  tt  e  intruder,"  I  answered,  looking  wistfully 
towards  the  door,  through  which  I  was  tempted  to  rush  at 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  125 

once.      "  I    thought    you    had    not   risen,  —  I    thought,  —  I 


"And  why  did  you  come  at  this  hour,  Gabriella?  and  what 
has  caused  such  excessive  embarrassment  ?  Will  you  not  be 
ingenuous  enough  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  answered  I,  calmed  by  the  gentle  composure  of  his 
manner,  "  if  you  will  assert  that  you  do  not  know  already." 

"  I  do  not  knoiv,  but  I  can  imagine.  Edith  has  betrayed  my 
admiration  of  that  picture.  You  came  to  justify  my  taste,  and 
to  establish  beyond  a  doubt  the  truth  of  the  likeness." 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  did  not ;  I  cannot  explain  the  impulse  which 
led  me  hither.  I  only  wish  I  had  resisted  it  as  I  ought." 

I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  quite  miserable,  from  the 
efforts  he  made  to  restore  my  self-complacency.  He  took  the 
basket  from  my  arm  and  placed  it  on  the  table,  moved  a  chair 
forward  for  me,  and  another  for  himself,  as  if  preparing  for  a 
morning  tele  a  tete. 

"  What  would  Mrs.  Linwood  say,  if  she  saw  me  here  at  this 
early  hour  alone  with  her  son  ?  "  thought  I,  obeying  his  motion, 
and  tossing  my  hat  on  the  light  stairs  that  were  winding  up  be- 
hind me.  1  did  not  fell  the  .possibility  of  declining  the  inter- 
view, for  there  was  a  power  about  him  which  overmastered 
without  their  knowing  it  the  will  of  others. 

"If  you  knew  how  much  more  pleasing  is  the  innocent 
shame  and  artless  sensibility  you  manifest,  than  the  ease  and 
assurance  of  the  practised  worldling,  you  would  not  blush  for 
the  impuse  which  drew  you  hither.  To  the  sated  taste  and 
weary  eye,  simplicity  and  truth  are  refreshing  as  the  spring- 
time of  nature  after  its  dreary  winter.  The  cheek  that  blushes, 
the  eye  that  moistens,  and  the  heart  that  palpitates,  are  sureties 
of  indwelling  purity  and  candor.  What  a  pity  that  they  are  as 
evanescent  as  the  bloom  of  these  flowers  and  the  fragrance 
they  exhale  !  You  have  never  been  in  what  is  called  the  great 
world?" 

"  Never.  I  passed  one  winter  in  Boston  ;  but  I  was  in  deep 
mourning  and  did  not  go  into  society.  Besides,  your  mother 
thought  me  too  young.  It  was  more  than  a  year  ago." 


126  ERNEST      LINWCOD. 

"  You  will  be  considered  old  enough  this  winter.  Do  you 
not  look  forward  with  eager  anticipations  and  bright  hopes  to 
the  realization  of  youth's  golden  dreams  ?  " 

"  I  as  often  look  forward  with  dread  as  hope.  I  am  told  they 
who  see  much  of  the  world,  lose  their  faith  in  human  virtue, 
their  belief  in  sincerity,  their  implicit  trust  in  what  seems  good 
and  fair.  All  the  pleasures  of  the  world  would  not  be  an 
equivalent  for  tK^  loss  of  these." 

"  And  do  you  possess  all  these  now  ?  " 

"  I  think  1  do.  I  am  sure  I  ought.  I  have  never  yet  been 
deceived.  I  should  doubt  that  the  setting  sun  would  rise  again, 
as  soon  as  the  truth  of  those  who  have  professed  to  love  me. 
Your  mother,  Edith  —  and  "  — 

"  Richard  Clyde,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  and  that  truth- 
searching  glance  which  often  brought  unbidden  words  to  my 
lips. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  perfect  reliance  in  his  friendship." 

"  And  in  his  love,"  he  added ;  "  why  not  finish  the  sen- 
tence ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  no  right  to  betray  his  confidence,  —  even 
supposing  your  assertion  to  be  true.  I  have  spoken  of  the  only 
feeling,  whose  existence  I  am  willing  to  admit,  and  even  that 
was  drawn  from  me.  What  if  /  turn  inquisitor?"  said  I, 
suddenly  emboldened  to  look  in  his  face.  "  Have  you,  who 
have  seen  so  much  more  of  life,  experienced  the  chilling  influ- 
ences which  you  deprecate  for  me  ?  " 

"I  am  naturally  suspicious  and  distrustful,"  he  answered. 
tt  Have  you  never  been  told  so  ?  " 

"  If  I  have,  it  required  your  own  assertion  to  make  me 
believe  it." 

"  Do  you  not  see  the  shadow  on  my  brow  ?  It  has  been 
there  since  my  cradle  hours.  It  was  born  with  me,  and  is  a 
part  of  myself, — just  as  much  as  the  shadow  I  cast  upon  the 
sunshine.  I  can  no  more  remove  it  than  I  could  the  thurider- 
rloud  from  Jehovah's  arch." 

I  trembled  at  the  strength  of  his  language,  and  it  seemed  as 
If  the  shadow  were  stealing  over  my  own  soul.  His  employ- 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  127 

ment  was  prophetic.  He  was  pulling  the  rose-leaves  from  my 
basket,  and  scattering  them  unconsciously  on  the  floor. 

"  See  what  I  have  done,"  said  he,  looking  down  on  the 
wreck. 

"  So  the  roses  of  confidence  are  scattered  and  destroyed  by 
the  cruel  hand  of  mistrust,"  cried  I,  stooping  to  gather  the 
fallen  petals. 

"  Let  them  be,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  you  cannot  restore  them." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  I  can  remove  the  ruins." 

I  was  quite  distressed  at  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken. 
I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  one  to  whom  the  Creator  had 
been  so  bountiful  of  his  gifts,  should  appreciate  so  little  the 
blessings  given.  He,  to  talk  of  shadows,  in  the  blazing  noon- 
day of  fortune ;  to  pant  with  thirst,  when  wave  swelling  after 
wave  of  pure  crystal  water  wooed  with  refreshing  coolness 
his  meeting  lips. 

Oh,  starver  in  the  midst  of  God's  plenty  !  think  of  the  wretched 
sons  of  famine,  and  be  wise. 

"  You  must  have  a  strange  power  over  me,"  said  he,  rising 
and  walking  to  one  of  the  alcoves,  in  which  the  books  were 
arranged.  "  Seldom  indeed  do  I  allude  to  my  own  individuality. 
Forget  it.  I  have  been  very  happy  lately.  My  soul,  like  a 
high  mountain,  lifts  itself  into  the  sunshine,  leaving  the  vapors 
and  clouds  rolling  below.  I  have  been  breathing  an  atmosphere 
pure  and  fresh  as  the  world's  first  morning,  redolent  with  the 
fragrance  of  Eden's  virgin  blossoms." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  approaching  his  own  portrait, 
glanced  from  it  to  the  flower  gill,  and  back  again  from  the 
flower  girl  to  his  own  image. 

"  Clouds  and  sunshine,"  he  exclah.ned,  "  flowers  and  thorns  ; 
ttich  is  the  union  nature  loves.  And  is  it  not  well  ?  Clouds 
iemper  the  dazzle  of  the  sunbeams,  —  thorns  protect  the  tender 
flowers.  Have  you  read  many  of  these  books  ? "  he  asked, 
with  a  sudden  transition. 

"  A  great  many,"  I  answered,  unspeakably  relieved  to  hear 
him  resume  his  natural  tone  and  manner;  "too  many  for  my 
mind's  good." 


123  EBNESTLINWOOn 

"  How  so  ?  These  are  all  select  works,  —  golcLn  sheaves 
of  knowledge,  gathered  from  the  chaff  and  bound  by  the  reap- 
ing hand." 

"  I  mean  that  I  cannot  read  with  moderation.  My  rapid 
eye  takes  in  more  than  my  judgment  can  criticize  or  my 
memory  retain.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  like  to  hear  another 
read.  Sound  does  not  travel  with  the  rapidity  of  light,  and 
then  the  echo  lingers  in  the  ear." 

"  Yes.  It  is  charming  when  the  eye  of  one  and  the  ear  of 
another  dwell  in  sympathy  on  the  same  inspiring  sentiments ; 
when  the  reader,  glowing  with  enthusiasm,  turns  from  the  page 
before  him  to  a  living  page,  printed  by  the  hand  of  God,  in 
fair,  divine  characters.  It  is  like  looking  from  the  shining 
heavens  to  a  clear,  crystallized  stream,  and  seeing  its  glories 
reflected  there,  and  our  own  image  likewise,  tremulously  bright." 

"Oh!"  thought  I,  "how  many  times  have  I  thus  listened; 
but  has  he  ever  thus  read  ?  " 

I  wish  I  could  recollect  all  the  conversation  of  the  morning,  — • 
it  was  so  rich  and  varied.  I  sat,  unconscious  of  the  fading 
flowers  and  the  passing  moments ;  unconscious  of  the  faint 
vibration  of  that  deep,  under  chord,  which  breathes  in  low,  pas- 
sionate strains,  life's  tender  and  pathetic  mirror. 

"I  am  glad  you  like  this  room,"  he  continued.  "  Here  you 
can  sit,  queen  of  the  past,  surrounded  by  beings  more  glorious 
than  those  that  walk  the  earth  or  dwell  in  air  or  sea.  You 
travel  not,  yet  the  wonders  of  earth's  various  climes  are  around 
and  about  you.  Buried  cities  are  exhumed  at  your  bidding, 
and  their  dim  palaces  glitter  once  more  with  burning  gold. 
And  here,  above  all  the  Eleusinian  mysteries  of  the  human 
heart  are  laid  bare,  without  the  necessity  of  revealing  your  own. 
But  I  am  detaining  you  too  long.  Your  languid  blossoms 
reproach  me.  When  you  come  here  again,  do  not  forget  thai 
we  have  here  thought  and  felt  in  unison." 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  library,  Mrs.  Linwood  entered. 
She  started  on  seeing  him,  and  her  eye  rested  on  me  with  s*+ 
anxious,  troubled  look. 

u  You  are  become  an  early  riser,  my  son,"  she  said. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  129 

"  You  encourage  so  excellent  a  habit,  do  you  not,  my 
mother  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  a  walk  in  the  fresh  morning 
air  would  be  more  health-giving  than  a  seat  within  walls,  damp 
with  the  mould  of  antiquity." 

"  We  have  brought  the  dewy  morning  within  doors,"  said  he ; 
while  I,  gathering  flowers,  basket,  and  hat,  waited  for  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood  to  move,  that  I  might  leave  the  room.  She  stood  between 
me  and  the  threshold,  and  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  in  her 
face  a  resemblance  to  her  son.  It  might  be  because  a  slight 
cloud  rested  on  her  brow. 

"  You  will  not  have  time  to  arrange  your  flowers  this  morn- 
ing," she  gravely  observed  to  me.  "  Jt  is  almost  the  breakfast 
hour,  and  you  are  still  in  your  garden  costume." 

My  eyes  bowed  beneath  her  mildly  rebuking  glance,  and  the 
fear  of  her  displeasure  chilled  the  warm  rapture  which  had  left 
its  glow  upon  my  cheek. 

"  Let  me  assist  you,"  he  cried,  in  an  animated  tone.  "  It 
was  I  who  encroached  on  your  time,  and  must  bear  the  blame, 
if  blame  indeed  there  be.  There  is  a  homely  proverb,  that 
'many  hands  make  light  work.'  Come,  let  us  prove  its  truih." 

I  thought  Mrs.  Linwood  sighed,  as  he  followed  me  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  with  quick,  graceful  fingers,  made  anple 
amends  for  the  negligence  he  had  caused.  His  light,  careless 
manner  restored  me  to  ease,  and  at  breakfast  Mrs.  LinwuxTs 
countenance  wore  its  usual  expression  of  calm  benevolence. 

Had  I  done  wrong  ?  I  had  sought  no  clandestine  inter\  Jew. 
Why  should  I  ?  It  was  foolish  to  wish  to  look  at  the  beautiful 
flower  girl ;  but  it  was  a  natural,  innocent  wish,  born  of  souse* 
thing  purer  and  better  than  vanity  and  self-love. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

I  LINGERED  after  school  was  dismissed,  to  ask  permission 
of  Mr.  Regulus  to  attend  the  commencement.  It  was  Mrs. 
Linwood's  wish,  and  of  course  a  law  to  me. 

"  Will  you  release  me  one  week  before  the  session  closes  ?  " 
I  asked,  "  Mrs.  Liuwood  does  not  wish  to  leave  me  behind,  but 
I  do  not  care  much  to  go." 

"  Of  course  I  will  release  you,  my  child,  but  it  will  seem  as 
if  the  flower  season  were  past  when  you  are  gone.  I  wonder 
now,  how  I  ever  taught  without  your  assistance.  I  wonder 
what  I  shall  do  when  you  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Linwood  wished  me  to  say  to  you,"  said  I,  quite 
touched  by  his  kind,  affectionate  manner,  "  that  she  does  not 
wish  me  to  renew  our  engagement.  She  will  take  me  to  town 
next  winter,  satisfied  for  the  present  with  the  discipline  I  have 
experienced  under  your  guardian  care." 

"  So  soon  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  was  not  prepared  for  this." 

"  So  soon,  Mr.  Regulus  ?  I  have  been  with  you  one  long 
year." 

"  It  may  have  seemed  long  to  you,  but  it  has  been  short  as  a 
dream  to  me.  A  very  pleasant  time  has  it  been,  too  pleasant 
to  last." 

He  took  up  his  dark,  formidable  ferula,  and  leaned  his  fore- 
bead  thoughtfully  upon  it. 

"  And  it  has  been  pleasant  to  me,  Mr.  Regulus.  I  dreaded 
it  very  much  at  first,  but  every  step  I  have  taken  in  the  path 
of  instruction  has  been  made  smooth  and  green  beneath  my  feet. 
No  dull,  lagging  hour  has  dragged  me  backward  in  my  daily 
duties.  The  diar  children  have  been  good  and  affectionate, 

(130) 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  131 

and  you,  my  dear  master,  have  crowned  me  with  lovingkind* 
ness  from  day  to  day.  How  shall  I  convince  you  of  my  grati- 
tude, and  what  return  can  I  make  for  your  even  parental  care  ?  '* 

I  spoke  earnestly,  for  my  heart  was  in  my  words.  His  unva- 
rying gentleness  and  tenderness  to  me,  (since  that  one  fiery 
shower  that  converted  for  a  time  the  Castalian  fountain  into  a 
Dead  Sea,)  had  won  my  sincere  and  deep  regard.  He  had 
seemed  lately  rather  more  reserved  than  usual,  and  I  valued 
still  more  his  undisguised  expressions  of  interest  and  affection. 

"  You  owe  me  nothing,"  said  he,  and  I  could  not  help  notic- 
ing an  unwonted  trepidation  in  his  manner,  and  on  one  sallow 
cheek  a  deep  flush  was  spreading.  "  Long  years  of  kindness, 
tenfold  to  mine,  could  not  atone  for  the  harshness  and  injustice 
of  which  I  was  once  guilty.  You  will  go  into  the  world  and 
blush  like  Waller's  rose,  to  be  so  admired.  You  will  be  sur- 
rounded by  new  friends,  new  lovers,  and  look  back  to  these 
walls  as  to  a  prison-house,  and  to  me,  as  the  grim  jailer  of  your 
youth." 

"  No  indeed,  Mr.  Regulus ;  you  wrong  yourself  and  me. 
Memory  will  hang  many  a  sweet  garland  on  these  classic  walls, 
and  will  turn  gratefully  to  you,  as  the  benefactor  of  my  child- 
hood, the  mentor  of  my  growing  years." 

My  voice  choked.  A  strange  dread  took  possession  of  me, 
he  looked  so  agitated,  so  little  like  himself.  His  hand  trembled 
so  that  it  dropped  the  ruler,  that  powerful  hand,  in  whose  strong 
grasp  I  had  seen  the  pale  delinquent  writhe  in  terror.  I  hardly 
know  what  I  dreaded,  but  the  air  seemed  thick  and  oppressive, 
and  I  longed  to  escape  into  the  open  sunshine. 

"  Gabriella,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  wait  one  moment.  I  did 
not  think  it  would  require  so  much  courage  to  confess  so  much 
weakness.  I  have  been  indulging  in  dreams  so  wild,  yet  so 
sweet,  that  I  fear  to  breathe  them,  knowing  that  I  must  wake  to 
the  cold  realities  of  life.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  you  have 
twined  yourself  about  my  heart  so  gradually,  so  gently,  but  so 
strongly,  that  I  cannot  separate  you  from  it.  A  young  and 
fragrant  vine,  you  have  covered  it  with  beauty  and  freshness. 
You  haMc  diffused  within  it  an  atmosphere  of  sprint;.  You 
9 


182  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

thought  the  cold  mathematician,  the  stern  philosopher  could  nol 
feel,  but  I  tell  thee,  child,  we  are  the  very  ones  that  can  and  do 
feel.  There  is  as  much  difference  between  our  love  and  the 
boyish  passion  which  passes  for  love,  as  there  is  between  the 
Hash  of  the  glowworm  and  the  welding  heat  that  fuses  bars  of 
steel.  Oh  !  Gabriella,  do  not  laugh  at  this  confession,  or  deem 
it  lightly  made.  I  hope  nothing,  —  I  ask  nothing ;  and  yet  if 
you  could,  —  if  you  would  trust  your  orphan  youth  to  my 
keeping,  I  would  guard  it  as  the  most  sacred  trust  God  ever 
gave  to  man." 

He  paused  from  intense  emotion,  and  wiped  the  drops  of 
perspiration  from  his  forehead,  while  I  stood  ready  to  sink  with 
shame  and  sorrow.  No  glow  of  triumph,  no  elation  of  grate- 
ful vanity  warmed  my  heart,  or  exalted  my  pride.  I  felt  hum- 
bled, depressed.  Where  I  had  been  accustomed  to  look  up 
with  respect,  I  could  not  bear  to  look  down  in  pity,  it  was  so 
strange,  so  unexpected.  I  was  stunned,  bewildered.  The 
mountain  had  lost  its  crown,  —  it  had  fallen  in  an  avalanche  at 
my  feet. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Regulus !  "  said  I,  when  I  at  last  liberated  my  im- 
prisoned voice,  "  you  honor  me  too  much.  I  never  dreamed  of 
such  a,  —  such  a  distinction.  I  am  not  worthy  of  it,  —  indeed 
I  am  not.  It  makes  me  very  unhappy  to  think  of  your  cher- 
ishing such  feelings  for  me,  who  have  looked  up  to  you  so  long 
with  so  much  veneration  and  respect.  I  will  always  esteem 
and  revere  you,  dear  Mr.  Regulus,  —  always  think  of  you  with 
gratitude  and  affection ;  but  do  not,  I  entreat  you,  ever  allude 
again  to  any  other  sentiment.  You  do  not  know  how  very  mis- 
erable it  makes  me." 

I  tried  to  express  myself  in  the  gentlest  manner  possible,  but 
the  poor  man  had  lost  all  command  of  his  feelings.  He  had 
confined  them  in  his  breast  so  long,  that  the  moment  he  re- 
leased them,  they  swelled  and  rose  like  the  genius  liberated 
frcm  the  chest  of  the  fisherman,  and  refused  to  return,  to  the 
prison-house  they  had  quitted.  His  brows  contracted,  his  lips 
quivered,  and  turning  aside  with  a  spasmodic  gesture,  he  cov 
ered  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 


ESNES1     LIN  WOOD.  133 

I  could  not  bear  this,  —  it  quite  broke  my  hsart.  I  felt  as 
remorseful  as  if  every  tear  he  was  hiding  was  a  drop  of  blood. 
Walking  hastily  to  him,  and  laying  my  hand  on  his  arm,  I  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  Do  n't,  my  dear  master ! "  and  burst  into  tears  myself. 

How  foolish  we  must  have  appeared  to  a  bystander,  who 
knew  the  cause  of  our  tears,  —  one  weeping  that  he  loved  to<r 
well,  the  other  that  she  could  not  love  in  return.  How  ridicu 
lous  to  an  uninterested  person  would  that  tall,  awkward, 
grave  man  seem,  in  love  with  a  young  girl  so  much  his  j  inior. 
so  childlike  and  so  unconscious  of  the  influence  she  hal  ac- 
quired. 

"  How  foolish  this  is  !  "  cried  he,  as  if  participating  in  these 
sentiments.  Then  removing  the  handkerchief  from  his  face,  he 
ran  his  fingers  vigorously  through  his  hair,  till  it  stood  up 
frantically  round  his  brow,  drew  the  sleeves  of  his  coat  strenu- 
ously over  his  wrists,  and  straightening  himself  to  his  tall 
height,  seemed  resolved  to  be  a  man  once  more.  I  smiled  aftev- 
wards,  when  I  recollected  his  figure  ;  but  I  did  not  then,— 
thank  heaven,  I  did  not  smile  then,  —  I  would  not  have  dune  i  • 
for  "  the  crown  the  Bourbons  lost." 

Anxious  to  close  a  scene  so  painful,  I  approached  the  cJcor 
though  with  a  lingering,  hesitating  step.  I  wanted  to  saj 
something,  but  knew  not  what  to  utter. 

"  You  will  let  me  be  your  friend  still,"  said  he,  taking  mj 
hand  in  both  his.  "  You  will  not  think  worse  of  me,  for  a 
•weakness  which  has  so  much  to  excuse  it.  And,  Gabriella,  my 
dear  child,  should  the  time  ever  come,  when  you  need  a  friend 
and  counsellor,  should  the  sky  so  bright  now  be  darkened  with 
clouds,  remember  there  is  one  who  would  willingly  die  to  save 
you  from  sorrow  or  evil.  Will  you  remember  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  M.%.  Regulus,  how  could  I  forget  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  those  younger  and  more  attractive,"  he  continued, 
tt  who  may  profess  more,  and  yet  feel  less.  I  would  not,  howevsr, 
be  unjust.  God  save  me  from  the  meanness  of  envy,  the  baseness 
of  jealousy.  I  fear  I  did  not  do  justice  to  young  Clyde,  when  1 
warned  you  of  his  attentions.  I  believe  he  is  a  highly  honor- 


134  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

able  young  man.  Ernest  Linwood,"  —  he  paused,  and  his 
shaded  eyes  sought  mine,  with  a  glance  of  penetrating  power,-— 
"is,  I  am  told,  a  man  of  rare  and  fascinating  qualities.  He  is 
rich  beyond  his  need,  and  will  occupy  a  splendid  position  in 
the  social  world.  His  mother  will  probably  have  very  exalted 
views  with  regard  to  the  connections  he  may  form.  Forgive 
me  if  I  am  trespassing  on  forbidden  ground.  I  did  not  mean, 
—  I  have  no  right,"  — 

He  stopped,  for  my  confusion  was  contagious.  My  face  crim 
soned,  even  my  fingers  were  suffused  with  the  rosy  hue  of 
shame.  Nor  was  it  shame  alone.  Indignation  mingled  with  it 
its  deeper  dye. 

"  If  you  suppose,  Mr.  Regulus,"  said  I,  in  a  wounded  and 
excited  tone,  "  that  /  have  any  aspirations,  that  would  conflict 
with  Mrs.  Linwood's  ambitious  views,  you  wrong  me  very 
much.  Oh  !  if  I  thought  that  he,  that  she,  that  you,  or  any- 
body in  the  world  could  believe  such  a  thing  "  — 

I  could  not  utter  another  word.  I  remembered  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood's  countenance  when  she  entered  the  library.  I  remein 
bered  many  things,  which  might  corroborate  my  fears. 

"  You  are  as  guileless  as  the  unweaned  lamb,  Gabriella,  and 
long,  long  may  you  remain  so,"  he  answered,  with  a  gentleness 
that  disarmed  my  anger.  "  Mine  was  an  unprompted  sugges- 
tion, about  as  wise,  I  perceive,  as  my  remarks  usually  are.  I 
am  a  sad  blunderer.  May  heaven  pardon  the  pain  I  have 
caused,  for  the  sake  of  my  pure  intentions.  I  do  not  believe  it 
possible  for  a  designing  thought  to  enter  your  mind,  or  a  feeling 
to  find  admittance  into  your  heart,  that  angels  might  not  cherish. 
But  you  are  so  young  and  inexperienced,  so  unsuspecting  and 
confiding  ;  —  but  no  matter,  God  bless  you,  and  keep  you  for- 
ever under  his  most  holy  guardianship  !  " 

Wringing  my  hand  so  hard  that  it  ached  long  afterwards,  he 
turned  away,  and  descended  the  steps  more  rapidly  than  he  had 
ever  done  before.  In  his  excitement  he  forgot  his  hat,  and  was 
pursuing  his  way  bareheaded,  through  the  sunny  atmosphere. 

'•'  He  must  not  go  through  town  in  that  way,  for  the  boys  to 
laugh  at  him,"  thought  I,  catching  up  his  hat  and  running  to 
the  door 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  135 

'  Mr.  Regulus  !  "  I  cried,  waving  it  above  my  head,  to  attract 
his  attention. 

He  started,  turned,  saw  the  hat,  run  his  fingers  through  his 
long  hair,  smiled,  and  came  back.  I  met  him  more  than  half 
way. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  left  my  head,  as  well  as  my  ueart 
behind,"  said  he,  with  a  sickly  effort  to  be  facetious ;  "  thank 
you,  God  bless  you  once  again." 

With  another  iron  pressure  of  my  aching  hand,  he  dashed  his 
hat  on  his  lion-like  head  and  left  me. 

I  walked  home  as  one  in  a  dream,  wondering  if  this  in- 
terview were  real  or  ideal ;  wondering  if  the  juice  of  the 
milk-white  flower,  "  made  purple  by  love's  wand,"  had  been 
squeezed  by  fairy  fingers  into  the  eyes  of  my  preceptor,  in  his 
slumbering  hours,  to  cause  this  strange  passion  ;  wondering  why 
the  spirit  of  love,  like  the  summer  wind,  stealing  softly  through 
the  whispering  boughs,  breathes  where  it  listeth,  and  we  cannot 
tell  whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth ;  and  wondering 
most  of  all  if  —  but  I  cannot  describe  the  thoughts  that  drifted 
through  my  mind,  vague  and  changing  as  the  clouds  that  went 
hurrying  after  each  other  over  the  deep  blue  ether 


CHAPTER    XX. 

C»  .ENRfttlMElTT  day!  —  a  day  of  feverish  anxiety  and  ex- 
«i(enK;»it  to  the  young  student,  who  is  to  step  forth  before  the 
public  eye,  a  candidate  for  the  laurels  of  fame ;  —  a  day  of  wea- 
riness and  stiffness  to  the  dignified  professors,  obliged  to  sit  hour 
after  hour,  listening  to  the  florid  eloquence  whose  luxuriance 
they  have  ia  vain  attempted  to  prune,  or  trying  to  listen  while 
the  spirit  yawns  and  stretches  itself  to  its  drowsy  length ;  —  a 
day  of  intense  interest  to  the  young  maiden,  who  sees  among 
the  youthful  band  of  aspirants  one  who  is  the  "  bright  particular 
star"  round  which  her  pure  and  trembling  hopes  revolve. 

It  was  a  day  of  excitement  to  me,  for  every  thing  was  novel, 
and  therefore  interesting.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been 
In  a  dense  crowd,  and  I  felt  the  electric  fluid,  always  collected 
where  the  great  heart  of  humanity  is  throbbing,  thrilling  in  my 
veins,  and  ready  to  flash  at  the  master-stroke  of  eloquence.  I 
was  dazzled  by  the  brilliant  display  of  beauty  and  fashion  that 
lighted  up  the  classic  walls  as  with  living  sunbeams.  Such 
clusters  of  mimic  blossoms  and  flowing  ringlets  wreathed  to- 
gether round  fair,  blooming  faces ;  such  a  cloud  of  soft,  airy 
drapery  floating  over  lithe  figures,  swaying  forward  like  light 
boughs  agitated  by  the  wind ;  such  a  fluttering  of  snowy 
fans,  making  the  cool,  pleasant  sound  of  rain  drops  pattering 
among  April  leaves ;  such  bright  eager  eyes,  turned  at  every 
sounding  step  towards  the  open  door,  —  I  had  never  looked 
upon  the  like  before.  I  sat  in  a  dream  of  delight,  without 
thinking  that  it  might  be  thought  vulgar  to  appear  delighted, 
and  still  more  to  express  undisguised  admiration. 

I  dared  not  look  to  the  platform,  where  the  faculty  and  stu- 


EKNEST     LINWOOD.  137 

dents  were  arranged  in  imposing  ranks,  for  there  was  one  pair, 
of  familiar,  sparkling  eyes,  that  were  sure  to  beat  mine  back 
with  their  steadfast  gaze.  I  did  not  like  this  persevering  scru- 
tiny, for  I  was  sure  it  would  attract  the  attention  of  others,  and 
then  draw  it  on  myself.  He  had  grown  taller,  Richard  Clyde 
had,  since  I  had  seen  him,  his  countenance  was  more  manly, 
his  manner  more  polished.  He  had  been  with  us  the  evening 
before,  but  the  room  was  crowded  with  company,  and  I  was 
careful  not  to  give  him  a  moment's  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
me  alone.  But  I  read  too  well  in  his  sincere  and  earnest  eyes, 
that  time 'had  wrought  no  change  in  the  fervor  of  his  feelings, 
or  the  constancy  of  his  attachment. 

Mrs.  Linwood,  though  surrounded  by  friends  of  the  most 
distinguished  character,  honored  him  by  signal  marks  of  atten- 
tion. I  was  proud  of  him  as  a  friend.  Why  did  he  wish  to  be 
more? 

"  What  a  fine  young  man  Clyde  is ! "  I  heard  some  one  re- 
mark who  sat  behind  us.  "  It  is  said  he  is  the  most  promising 
student  in  the  university." 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  have  heard  that  several  wealthy 
gentlemen  in  Boston  are  going  to  send  him  to  Europe  to  com- 
plete his  education,  as  his  own  income  will  not  allow  him  to 
incur  the  expense." 

"  That  is  a  great  compliment,"  observed  the  first  voice,  "  and 
I  have  no  doubt  he  deserves  it.  They  say,  too,  that  he  is  be- 
trothed to  a  young  girl  in  the  country,  very  pretty,  but  in  most 
indigent  circumstances, —  an  early  attachment,  —  children's  ro 
mance." 

Was  it  possible  that  village  gossip  had  reached  these  venera- 
ble walls  ?  But  hark  to  the  other  voice. 

"  I  have  heard  so,  but  they  say  she  has  been  adopted  by  a 
rich  lady,  whose  name  I  have  forgotten.  Her  own  mother  waa 
of  very  mysterious  and  disreputable  character,  I  am  told, 
whom  no  one  visited  or  respected.  Quite  an  outcast." 

I  started  as  if  an  arrow  had  passed  through  my  ears,  or 
rather  entered  them,  for  it  seemed  quivering  there.  Never 
before  had  I  heard  one  sullying  word  breathed  on  the  spotleas 


138  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

snow  of  my  mother's  character.  Is  it  strange  that  the  cold, 
venomous  tongue  of  slander,  hissing  at  my  very  back,  should 
make  me  shudder  and  recoil  as  if  a  serpent  were  there  ? 

A  hand  touched  my  shoulder,  lightly,  gently,  but  I  knew 
its  touch,  though  never  felt  but  once  before.  I  looked  up  in- 
voluntarily, and  met  the  eyes  of  Ernest  Linwood,  who  was 
standing  close  to  the  seat  I  occupied.  I  did  not  know  he  was 
there.  He  had  wedged  the  crowd  silently,  gradually,  till  he 
reached  the  spot  he  had  quitted  soon  after  our  entrance,  to 
greet  his  former  class  mates.  I  knew  by  his  countenance  that 
he  had  heard  all,  and  a  sick,  deadly  feeling  came  over  me.  He, 
to  hear  my  mother's  name  made  a  byword  and  reproach,  my- 
self alluded  to  as  the  indigent  daughter  of  an  outcast,  —  he, 
•who  seemed  already  lifted  as  high  above  me  on  the  eagle  winga 
of  fortune,  as  the  eyry  of  the  king-bird  is  above  the  nest  of 
the  swallow,  —  it  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

I  said  I  knew  by  his  countenance  that  he  had  heard  all.  I 
never  saw  such  an  expression  as  his  face  wore,  —  such  burning 
indignation,  such  withering  scorn.  I  trembled  to  think  of  the 
central  fires  from  which  such  flames  darted.  As  he  caught  my 
glance,  an  instantaneous  change  came  over  it.  Compassion 
softened  every  lineament.  Still  his  eye  of  power  held  me 
down.  It  said,  "  be  quiet,  be  calm,  —  I  am  near,  be  not  afraid." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  you  a  glass  of  water,"  said  he,  in  a  low 
voice,  for  I  suppose  I  looked  deadly  pale  ;  "  but  it  would  be  im- 
possible I  fear  in  this  crowd,  —  the  aisles  are  impenetrable." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  answered,  "  there  is  no  need,  —  but  if  I 
could  only  leave." 

I  looked  despairingly  at  the  masses  of  living  beings  on  every 
side,  crowding  the  pews,  filling  the  aisles,  standing  on  the  win- 
dow-sills, on  the  tops  of  the  pews,  leaning  from  the  gallery,  — 
and  felt  'hat  I  was  a  prisoner.  The  sultry  air  of  August, 
confined  in  the  chapel  walls,  and  deprived  of  its  vital  principle 
by  so  many  heaving  lungs,  weighed  oppressively  on  mine.  I 
could  feel  behind  me  the  breathing  of  the  lips  of  sJander,  and 
it  literally  seemed  to  scorch  me.  Ernest  took  my  fan  from 
my  hand  and  fanned  me  without  intermission,  or  I  think  I 
must  have  fainted. 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  139 

As  I  sat  with  downcast  eyes,  whose  drooping  lashes  were 
heavy  with  unshed  tears,  I  saw  a  glass  of  water  held  before 
ine  by  an  unsteady  hand.  I  looked  up  and  saw  Richard  Clyde, 
his  student's  robe  of  flowing  black  silk  gathered  up  by  his  left 
arm,  who  had  literally  forced  his  way  through  a  triple  row  of 
men.  "VVe  were  very  near  the  platform,  there  being  but  one 
row  of  pews  between. 

I  drank  the  water  eagerly,  gratefully.  Even  before  those 
blistering  words  were  uttered,  I  had  felt  as  if  a  glass  of  cold 
water  would  be  worth  all  the  gems  of  the  East ;  now  it  was  life 
itself. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Gabriella  ? "  whispered  Mrs.  Linwood,  who 
with  Edith  sat  directly  in  front,  and  whose  eyes  had  watched 
anxiously  the  motions  of  Richard.  "  Ah  !  I  see  this  heat  is 
killing  you." 

"  That  is  she,  I  do  believe,"  hissed  the  serpent  tongue  be- 
hind me. 

"  Hush,  she  may  hear  you." 

All  was  again  still  around  me,  the  stillness  of  the  multitudi- 
nous sea,  for  every  wave  of  life  heaved  restlessly,  producing  a 
kind  of  murmur,  like  that  of  rustling  leaves  in  an  autumnal 
forest.  Then  a  sound  loud  as  the  thunders  of  the  roaring  ocean 
came  rushing  on  the  air.  It  was  the  burst  of  acclamation  which 
greeted  Richard  Clyde,  first  in  honor  though  last  in  time.  I 
bent  my  ear  to  listen,  but  the  words  blent  confusedly  together, 
forming  one  wave  of  utterance,  that  rolled  on  without  leaving 
one  idea  behind.  I  knew  he  was  eloquent,  from  the  enthusias- 
tic applause  which  occasionally  interrupted  him,  but  I  had 
lost  the  power  of  perception  ;  and  had  Demosthenes  risen  from 
his  grave,  it  would  scarcely  have  excited  in  me  any  emotion. 

Was  this  my  introduction  to  that  world,  —  that  great  world, 
of  which  I  had  heard  and  thought  and  dreamed  so  much  ?  How 
soon  had  my  garlands  faded,  —  my  fine  gold  become  dim! 
Could  they  not  have  spared  me  one  day,  me,  who  had  n«ver  in- 
jured them  ?  And  yet  they  might  aim  their  barbed  darts  at  iiie. 
I  would  not  care  for  that,  —  oh,  no,  it  was  not  that.  It  was  the 
blow  that  attacked  an  angel  mother's  fame.  O  my  mother  f 


140  BBNEST     LINWOOD. 

could  they  not  spare  thee  even  in  thy  grave,  where  the  wicked 
are  said  to  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest  i 
Could  they  not  let  thee  sleep  in  peace,  thou  tempest-tost  and 
weary  hearted,  even  in  the  dark  and  narrow  house,  sacred  from 
the  footstep  of  the  living  ? 

Another  thundering  burst  of  applause  called  my  spirit  from 
the  grass-grown  sod,  made  damp  and  green  by  the  willow's  shade, 
to  the  crowded  church  and  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  life. 
Then  followed  the  presentation  of  the  parchment  rolls  and  the 
ceremonies  usual  at  the  winding  up  of  this  time-honored  day. 
It  all  seemed  like  unmeaning  mummery  to  me.  The  majestic 
president,  with  his  little  flat  black  cap,  set  like  a  tile  on  the  top 
of  his  head,  was  a  man  of  pasteboard  and  springs,  and  even  the 
beautiful  figures  that  lighted  up  the  walls  had  lost  their  coloring 
and  life.  There  was,  indeed,  a  wondrous  change,  independent 
of  that  within  my  own  soul.  The  excessive  heat  had  wilted 
these  flowers  of  loveliness  and  faded  their  bright  hues.  Their 
uncurled  ringlets  hung  dangling  down  their  cheeks,  whose  roses 
were  heightened  to  an  unbecoming  crimson,  or  withered  to  a 
eickly  pallor ;  their  gossamer  drapery,  deprived  of  its  delicate 
stiffening,  flapped  like  the  loose  sails  of  a  vessel  wet  by  the 
spray.  Here  and  there  was  a  blooming  maiden,  still  as  fair 
and  cool  as  if  sprinkled  with  dew,  round  whom  the  atmosphere 
seemed  refreshed  as  by  the  sparkling  of  a  jet  d'eau.  These, 
like  myself,  were  novices,  who  had  brought  with  them  the  dewy 
innocence  of  life's  morning  hours ;  but  they  had  not,  like  me, 
heard  the  hissing  of  the  adder  among  their  roses. 

"Be  calm,  —  be  courageous,"  said  Ernest,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  tone,  as  bending  down  he  gave  the  fan  into  my  hand  ; 
"  the  arrow  rebounds  from  an  impenetrable  surface." 

As  we  turned  to  leave  the  church,  I  felt  my  hand  drawn 
round  the  arm  of  Richard  Clyde.  How  he  had  cleft  the  living 
mass  so  quickly  I  could  not  tell ;  but  he  had  made  his  way 
where  an  anxnv  could  hardly  penetrate.  I  looked  round  for 
Edith,  —  but  Ernest  watched  over  her,  like  an  earthly  provi- 
dence. My  backward  glance  to  her  prevented  my  seeing  the 
faces  of  those  who  were  seated  behind  me.  But  what  mattered 


EBNEST     LINWOOD.  141 

It  ?  They  were  strangers,  and  heaven  grant  that  they  would 
ever  remain  so. 

*  Are  you  entirely  recovered  ?  "  asked  Richard,  in  an  anxious 
tone.  "  I  never  saw  any  one's  countenance  change  so  instan- 
taneously as  yours.  You  were  as  white  as  your  cambric 
handkerchief.  You  are  not  accustomed  to  such  stifling  crowds, 
wheic  we  seem  plunged  in  an  exhausted  receiver." 

"  I  never  wish  to  be  in  such  another,"  I  answered,  with  em- 
phasis. "  I  never  care  to  leave  home  again." 

"  I  am  sorry  your  first  impressions  should  have  been  so 
disagreeable,  —  but  I  hope  you  have  been  interested  in  some 
small  degree.  You  do  not  know  what  inspiration  there  was  in 
your  presence.  At  first,  I  thought  I  would  rather  be  shot  from 
the  cannon's  mouth  than  speak  in  your  hearing  ;  but  after  the 
first  shock,  you  were  like  a  fountain  of  living  waters  playing  on 
my  soul." 

Poor  Eichard !  how  could  I  tell  him  that  I  had  not  heard 
understandingly  one  sentence  that  he  uttered  ?  or  how  could 
I  explain  the  cause  of  my  mental  distraction  ?  He  had  cast 
bis  pearls  to  the  wind  ;  his  diamonds  to  the  sand. 

Mrs.  Linwood  was  a  guest  of  the  president,  who  was  an 
intimate  and  valued  friend.  I  would  have  given  worlds  for  a 
little  solitary  nook,  where  I  could  hide  myself  from  every  eye  ; 
for  a  seat  beneath  the  wild  oaks  that  girdled  the  cottage  of  my 
childhood  ;  but  the  house  was  thronged  with  the  literati  of  the 
State,  and  wherever  I  turned  I  met  the  gaze  of  strangers.  If 
I  could  have  seen  Mrs.  Linwood  alone,  or  Edith  alone,  and  told 
them  how  wantonly,  how  cruelly  my  feelings  had  been  wounded, 
it  would  have  relieved  the  fuln'ess,  the  oppression  of  my  heart. 
But  that  was .  impossible.  Mrs.  Linwood's  commanding  social 
position,  her  uncommon  and  varied  powers  of  conversation, 
the  excellence  and  dignity  of  her  character,  made  her  the 
cynosure  of  the  literary  circle.  Edith,  too,  from  her  exquisite 
loveliness,  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition,  and  her  personal 
misfortune,  which  endeared  her  to  her  friends  by  the  tendorness 
and  sympathy  it  excited,  was  a  universal  favorite ;  and  all  these 
attractive  qualities  in  both  were  gilded  and  enhanced  bj  the 


142  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

wealth  which  enabled  them  to  impart,  even  more  than  they 
received.  They  were  at  home  here,  —  they  were  in  the  midst 
of  friends,  whose  society  was  congenial  to  their  tastes,  and  I 
resolved,  whatever  I  might  suffer,  not  to  mar  their  enjoyment 
by  my  selfish  griefs.  Ernest  had  heard  all,  —  perhaps  he  be- 
lieved all.  He  did  not  know  my  mother.  He  had  never  seen 
that  face  of  heavenly  purity  and  holy  sorrow.  Why  should  he 
not  believe? 

One  thing  I  could  do.  I  could  excuse  myself  from  dinner 
and  thus  secure  an  hour's  quietude.  I  gave  no  false  plea,  when 
I  urged  a  violent  headache  as  the  reason  for  my  seclusion.  My 
temples  ached  and  throbbed  as  if  trying  to  burst  from  a  metal- 
lic band,  and  the  sun  rays,  though  sifted  through  curtains  of 
folding  lace,  fell  like  needle  points  on  my  shrinking  eyes. 

"  Poor  Gabriella ! "  said  Edith,  laying  her  cool  soft  hand  on 
my  hot  brow,  "  I  did  not  think  you  were  such  a  tender,  green- 
house plant.  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you  here,  when  you  could 
enjoy  such  an  intellectual  banquet  below.  Let  me  stay  with 
you.  I  fear  you  are  really  very  ill.  How  unfortunate  !  " 

"  No,  no,  dear  Edith  ;  you  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Just  close  those  blinds,  and  give  me  that  fan,  and  I  shall  be 
Very  comfortable  here.  If  possible  let  no  one  come  in.  If  I 
could  sleep,  this  paroxysm  will  pass  over." 

"  There,  sleep  if  you  can,  dear  Gabriella,  and  be  bright  for 
the  evening  party.  You  knew  the  dresses  mamma  gave  us  for 
the  occasion,  both  alike.  I  could  not  think  of  wearing  mine, 
unless  you  were  with  me,  —  and  you  look  so  charmingly  in 
white ! " 

Edith  had  such  a  sweet,  coaxing  way  with  her,  she  magnet- 
ized pain  and  subdued  self-distrust.  The  mere  touch  of  her 
gentle  hand  had  allayed  the  fever  of  my  brain,  and  one  glance 
of  her  loving  blue  eye  tempered  the  anguish  of  my  spirit.  She 
lingered,  unwilling  to  leave  me,  —  drew  the  blinds  together, 
maki/ig  a  sc-fi  twilight  amid  the  glare  of  day,  saturated  my  hand- 
kerchief with  cologne  and  laid  it  on  my  temples,  and  placing  a 
beautiful  bouquet  of  flowers,  an  ofFeruig  to  herself,  on  my  pil- 
low, kissed  me,  and  left  me. 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  143 

I  watched  the  sound  of  her  retreating  footsteps,  or  rather  of 
her  crutches,  till  they  were  no  longer  heard ;  then  burying  my 
face  in  my  pillow,  the  sultry  anguish  of  my  heart  was  drenched 
in  tears.  Oh  !  what  a  relieving  shower  !  It  was  the  thunder- 
shower  of  the  tropics,  not  the  slow,  drizzling  rain  of  colder  climes. 
I  wept  till  the  pillow  was  as  wet  aS  the  turf  on  which  the  heavens 
have  been  weeping.  I  clasped  it  to  my  bosom  as  a  shield 
against  invisible  foes,  but  there  was  no  sympathy  in  its  dovvny 
softness.  I  sighed  for  a  pillow  beneath  whose  gentlo  h  savings 
the  heart  of  human  kindness  beats,  I  yearned  to  lay  my  head 
on  a  mother's  breast.  Yea,  cold  and  breathless  as  it  was  now, 
beneath  the  clods  of  the  valley,  it  would  still  be  a  sacred  resting- 
place  to  me.  The  long  pressure  of  the  grave-sods  could  not 
crush  out  the  impression  of  that  love,  stronger  than  death, 
deeper  than  the  grave. 

Had  the  time  arrived  when  I  might  claim  the  manuscript, 
left  as  a  hallowed  legacy  to  the  orphan,  who  had  no  other  inheri- 
tance ?  Had  I  awakened  to  the  knowledge  of  woman's  destiny 
to  love  and  suffer  ?  Dare  I  ask  myself  this  question  ?  Through 
the  morning  twilight  of  my  heart,  was  not  a  star  trembling, 
whose  silver  rays  would  never  be  quenched,  save  in  the  night- 
shades of  death  ?  Was  it  not  time  to  listen  to  the  warning  voice, 
whose  accents,  echoing  from  the  tomb,  must  have  the  power  and 
grandeur  of  prophecy  ?  Yes  !  I  would  ask  Mrs.  Linwood  for 
my  mother's  history,  as  soon  as  we  returned  to  Grandison 
Place  ;  and  if  I  found  the  shadow  of  disgrace  rested  on  the  mem- 
ory of  her  I  so  loved  and  worshipped,  I  would  fly  to  the  utter- 
most parts  of  the  earth,  to  avoid  that  searching  eye,  which,  next 
to  the  glance  of  Omnipotence,  I  would  shun  in  guilt  and  shame. 

"  They  say  ! "  Who  are  they  ?  who  are  the  cowled  monks, 
the  hooded  friars  who  glide  with  shrouded  faces  in  the  proces- 
sion of  life,  muttering  in  an  unknown  tongue  words  of  mysteri 
ous  import  ?  Who  are  they  ?  the  midnight  assassins  of  reputa 
tion,  who  lurk  in  the  by-lanes  of  society,  with  dagger  tongues 
sharpened  by  invention  and  envenomed  by  malice,  to  draw  the 
blood  of  innocence,  and,  hyena-like,  banquet  on  the  dead  ?  Who 
are  they  ?  They  are  a  multitude  no  man  can  number,  black- 


144  ERNEST     LTNWOOD. 

stoled  familiars  of  the  inquisition  of  slander,  searcl  ing  for  vic- 
tims in  every  city,  town,  and  village,  wherever  the  heart  of 
humanity  throbs,  or  the  ashes  of  mortality  find  rest. 

Oh,  coward,  coward  world  —  skulkers  !  Give  me  the  bold 
brigand,  who  thunders  along  the  highways  with  flashing  weapon 
that  cuts  the  sunbeams  as  well  as  the  shades.  Give  me  the 
pirate,  who  unfurls  the  black  flag,  emblem  of  his  terrible  trade, 
and  shores  the  plank  which  your  doomed  feet  must  tread  ;  but 
save  me  from  the  they-sayers  of  society,  whose  knives  are  hid- 
den in  a  velvet  sheath,  whose  bridge  of  death,  is  woven  of  few- 
er?; and  who  spread,  with  invisible  poison,  evea  the  spotlisa 
whiteness  of  the  winding-sheet. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

"  GABRIELLA,  awake  !  " 

"  Mother,  is  the  day  dawning  ?  " 

"  My  child,  the  sun  is  near  his  setting ;  you  hjvre  slumbered 
long." 

I  dreamed  it  was  my  mother's  voice  that  awakened  me,  — 
then  it  seemed  the  voice  of  Richard  Clyde,  and  I  was  lying 
under  the  great  shadow  of  the  oak,  where  he  had  found  me 
years  before  half  drowned  in  tears. 

"  Gabriella,  my  dear,  —  it  is  time  to  dress  for  the  evening." 

This  time  I  recognized  the  accents  of  Mrs.  Linwood,  and  I 
rose  at  once  to  a  sitting  position,  wondering  if  it  were  the  rising 
or  the  declining  day  that  shone  around  me.  Sleep  had  left  its 
down  on  my  harassed  spirits,  and  its  balm  on  my  aching  head. 
I  felt  languid,  but  tranquil ;  and  when  Mrs.  Linwood  affection- 
ately but  decidedly  urged  upon  me  the  necessity  of  rising  and  pre- 
paring to  descend  to  the  drawing-room,  I  submissively  obeyed. 
She  must  have  seen  that  I  had  been  in  tears,  but  she  made  no 
allusion  to  them.  Her  manner  was  unusually  kind  and  tender; 
but  there  was  an  expression  in  her  serene  but  commanding 
eye,  that  bade  me  rise  superior  to  the  weakness  that  had  sub- 
dued me.  Had  her  son  spoken  of  the  cause  of  my  emotion  ? 

A  few  moments  after,  Edith  entered,  and  her  mother  rejoined 
her  friends  below. 

Edith  held  in  her  hand  a  fresh  bouquet  of  the  most  exqui- 
site green-house  plants,  among  which  the  scarlet  geranium  ex- 
hibited its  glowing  blossoms.  She  held  it  towards  me,  turned 
it  like  a  prism  in  various  directions  to  catch  the  changing  rays, 
while  its  odoriferous  breath  perfumed  the  whole  apartment. 


H5  ERNEST    LIXWOOD. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  another,  Edith,"  I  said,  looking  at  the 
wilted  flowers  on  my  pillow.  "  These  have  fulfilled  their  mis- 
sion most  sweetly.  I  have  no  doubt  they  inspired  soothing 
dreams,  though  I  cannot  remember  them  distinctly." 

"  Oh  !  these  are  yours"  she  answered,  " sent  by  a  friend  who 
was  quite  distressed  at  your  absence  from  the  dinner-table. 
Cannot  you  guess  the  donor  ?  " 

"  It  will  not  require  much  acuteness,"  replied  I,  taking  the 
flowers,  and  though  I  could  not  help  admiring  their  beauty, 
and  feeling  grateful  for  the  attention,  a  shade  of  regret  clouded 
their  welcome ;  "  I  have  so  few  friends  it  is  easy  to  conjecture 
who  thus  administers  to  my  gratification." 

"  Well,  who  is  it  ?  You  do  not  hazard  the  utterance  of  the 
name." 

u  No  one  but  Richard  Clyde  would  think  of  giving  me  a 
token  like  this.  They  are  very,  very  sweet,  and  yet  I  wish  he 
had  not  sent  them." 

"  Ungrateful  Gabriella !  No  one  but  Richard  !  A  host  of 
common  beings  melted  into  one,  could  not  make  the  equal  of 
the  friend  who  made  me  the  bearer  of  this  charming  offering. 
*s  the  gift  of  Ernest  greeted  with  such  indifference  ?  " 

"  Ernest ! "  I  repeated,  and  the  blood  bounded  in  my  veina 
like  a  stream  leaping  over  a  mountain  rock.  "  Is  he  indeed  so 
kind?" 

I  bent  my  head  over  the  beautiful  messengers,  to  hide  the  joy 
too  deep  for  words,  the  gratitude  too  intense  for  the  gift.  As  I 
thus  looked  down  into  the  heart  of  the  flowers,  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  something  white  folded  among  the  green  leaves. 
Edith's  back  was  turned  as  she  smoothed  the  folds  of  an  India 
muslin  dress  that  lay  upon  the  bed.  I  drew  out  the  paper  with 
a  tremulous  hand,  and  read  these  few  pencilled  words  :  — 

"  Sweet  flower  girl  of  tlte  north !  be  not  cast  down.  The 
most  noxious  wind  changes  not  the  purity  of  marble ;  neither 
can  an  idle  breath  shake  the  confidence  born  of  unsullied  inno- 
cence." 

These  words  pencilled  by  his  own  hand,  were  addressed  to 
me.  The)  were  embalmed  in  fragrance  and  imbedded  In 


ERNEST     LINWO  <$*> .  147 

bloom,  and  henceforth  they  were  engraven  on  tablets  on  which 
the  hand  of  man  had  never  before  traced  a  character,  which 
the  whole  world  might  not  peruse. 

Oh,  what  magic  there  was  in  those  little  words !  Slander  had 
lost  its  sting,  and  malice  its  venom,  at  least  for  the  present  hour. 
I  put  the  talisman  in  my  bosom  and  the  flowers  in  water,  —  for 
they  might  fade. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  room  but  Edith  and  myself.  She 
lat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  a  cloud  of  white  fleecy  drapery 
boating  over  her  lap  ;  a  golden  arrow,  the  very  last  in  the 
day,  God's  quiver  darted  through  the  half-open  blinds  into 
the  clusters  of  her  fair  ringlets.  She  was  the  most  unaffected 
of  human  beings,  and  yet  her  every  attitude  was  the  perfection 
of  grace,  as  if  she  sat  as  a  model  to  the  sculptor.  I  thought 
there  was  a  shade  of  sadness  on  her  brow.  Perhaps  she  had 
seen  me  conceal  the  note,  and  imagined  something  clandestine 
and  mysterious  between  me  and  her  brother,  that  brother 
whose  exclusive  devotion  had  constituted  the  chief  happiness 
of  her  life.  Though  it  was  a  simple  note,  and  the  words  were 
few,  intended  only  to  comfort  and  sustain,  they  were  of  such 
priceless  value  to  me,  I  could  not  bear  that  even  Edith's  eye 
should  become  familiar  with  its  contents.  But  her  love  and 
confidence  were  too  dear  to  be  sacrificed  to  a  refinement  of  ro- 
mance. 

"  Dear  Edith,"  said  I,  putting  the  note  in  her  hand,  and  an 
arm  round  her  neck,  "  it  was  a  gift  of  consolation  you  brought 
me ; "  and  then  I  told  her  all  that  I  had  overheard,  and  of  the 
exceeding  bitterness  of  my  anguish. 

"  I  know  it,  —  mamma  and  I  both  know  it,  —  brother  told 
us.  I  did  not  speak  of  it,  for  you  looked  as  if  you  had  forgot- 
ten it  after  I  came  in,  and  I  did  not  wish  you  to  recall  it.  You 
must  forget  it,  indeed  you  must.  Such  cruel  insinuations  can 
never  alienate  from  you  the  friends  who  love  you.  They  rather 
bind  you  closer  to  our  hearts.  Come,  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
You  know  we  must  assist  each  other." 

I  insisted  on  being  her  handmaid  first,  and  lingered  over  her 
toilet  till  she  literally  escaped  from  my  hands  and  drew  behind 
10 


148  E*S  NEST     LINWOOD. 

the  lace  curtains  like  a  star  behind  a  cloud.  Our  dresses  were 
alike,  as  the  generous  Edith  had  willed.  They  were  of  the 
most  exquisite  India  muslin,  simply  but  elegantly  decorated 
with  the  finest  of  lace.  I  had  never  before  been  arrayed  for  an 
evening  party,  and  as  the  gauzy  fulness  of  drapery  fell  so 
softly  and  redundantly  over  the  form  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
Bee  in  the  sad-colored  robes  of  mourning,  I  hardly  recognized 
my  own  lineaments.  There  was  something  so  light,  so  ethereal 
and  graceful  in  the  dress,  my  spirit  caught  its  airiness  and 
seemed  borne  upwards  as  on  wings  of  down.  I  was  about  to 
clasp  on  my  precious  necklace  and  bracelets  of  hair,  when  ob- 
serving Edith's  beautiful  pearl  ornaments,  corresponding  so 
well  with  the  delicacy  and  whiteness  of  her  apparel,  I  laid  them 
aside,  resolving  to  wear  no  added  decoration  but  the  flowers, 
consecrated  as  the  gift  of  Ernest. 

"  Come  here,  Gabriella,  let  me  arrange  that  fall  of  laco 
behind,"  said  Edith,  extending  a  beautiful  arm,  on  which  the 
pearl-drops  lay  like  dew  on  a  lily.  Both  arms  passed  round 
my  neck,  and  I  found  it  encircled  like  her  own  with  pearls. 
Then  turning  me  round,  she  clasped  first  one  arm,  and  then  the 
other  with  fairy  links  of  pearl,  and  then  she  flung  a  roseate  of 
these  ocean  flowers  round  my  head,  smiling  all  the  time  and 
uttering  exclamations  of  delighted  admiration. 

"  Now  do  n't  cry,  Gabriella  dear.  You  look  so  cool  —  so 
fair  —  so  like  a  snowdrop  glittering  with  dew.  And  do  n't  put 
your  arms  round  my  neck,  beautiful  as  they  are,  quite  so  close. 
You  will  spoil  my  lace,  darling.  You  must  just  wear  and  keep 
the  pearls  for  the  love  of  me.  Mamma  sanctions  the  gift,  so 
you  need  have  no  scruples  about  accepting  them.  Remember, 
now,  we  must  have  no  more  diamonds,  not  one,  though  of  the 
purest  water  and  sparkling  in  heaven's  own  setting." 

What  could  I  say,  in  answer  to  such  abounding  kindness  ? 
In  spite  of  her  prohibition  the  diamonds  would  mingle  with  the 
pearls  ;  but  the  sunbeams  shone  on  them  both. 

What  a  day  had  this  been  to  me  !  It  seemed  as  if  I  had 
lived  years  in  the  short  space  of  a  few  hours.  I  had  never 
felt  so  utterly  miserable,  not  even  over  my  mother's  new  made 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  149 

grave.  I  had  never  felt  so  supremely  happy,  —  so  buoyant 
with  hope  and  joy.  The  flowers  of  Ernest,  the  pearls  of 
Edith,  came  to  me  with  a.  message  as  gladdening  as  that  which 
waked  the  silver  harpstrings  of  the  morning  stars.  I  did  not, 
I  dared  not  misunderstand  the  meaning  of  the  first.  They  were 
sent  as  balm  to  a  wounded  spirit ;  as  breathers  of  hope  to  the 
ear  of  despair  ;  but  it  was  his  hand  that  administered  the  balm  ; 
his  spirit  that  inspired  the  strain. 

"  How  radiant  you  look,  Gabriella ! "  exclaimed  Edith,  her 
sweet  blue  eyes  resting  on  me  with  affectionate  delight.  "I 
am  so  glad  to  see  you  come  out  of  the  cloud.  Now  you  justify 
our  pride  as  well  as  our  affection." 

"  But  I  —  but  all  of  us  look  so  earthly  at  your  side,  Edith  "  — 

"  Hush !  flatterer  —  and  yet,  who  would  not  prefer  the  beau- 
ty of  earth,  to  the  cold  idealism  of  spirit  loveliness  ?  I  have 
never  sought  the  admiration  of  men.  If  I  look  lovely  in  the 
eyes  of  Ernest,  it  is  all  I  desire.  Perhaps  all  would  not  believe 
me  ;  but  you  will.  I  yield  you  the  empire  of  every  heart  but 
his.  There,  I  would  not  willingly  occupy  the  second  place. 
A  strange  kind  of  jealousy,  Gabriella  ;  but  I  am  just  so  weak." 

She  smiled,  nay  even  laughed,  —  called  herself  very  weak, 
very  foolish,  but  said  she  could  not  help  it.  She  believed  she 
was  the  most  selfisfi  of  human  beings,  and  feared  that  this  was 
the  right  hand  to  be  cut  off,  the  right  eye  to  be  plucked  out. 
I  was  pained  to  hear  her  talk  in  this  way ;  for  I  thought  if  any 
one  ever  gained  the  heart  of  Ernest,  it  would  be  dearly  pur- 
chased by  the  sacrifice  of  Edith's  friendship.  But  it  was  only 
a  jesting  way  of  expressing  her  exceeding  love,  after  all.  She 
was  not  selfish  ;  she  was  all  that  was  disinterested  and  kind. 

I  followed  her  down  stairs  into  a  blaze  of  light,  that  at 
first  dazzled  and  bewildered  me.  The  chandeliers  with  their 
myriad  pendants  of  glittering  crystal  emitted  thousands  of 
brilliant  coruscations,  like  wintry  boughs  loaded  with  icicles 
and  sparkling  in  a  noonday  sun.  While  through  the  open 
windows,  the  departing  twilight  mingled  its  soft  duskiness  with 
the  splendors  of  the  mimic  day. 

Ernest  Linwood  and  Richard  Clyde  were  standing  near  the 


150  ERNEST    UN  WOOD. 

entrance  of  the  door  to  greet  us.  The  former  immediately 
advanced  and  gave  me  his  arm,  and  Richard  walked  by  the 
side  of  Edith.  I  heard  him  sigh  as  they  fell  hehind  us,  and  my 
heart  echoed  the  sound.  Yet  how  could  he  sigh  with  Edith  at 
his  side  ?  As  I  walked  through  the  illuminated  drawing-room, 
escorted  by  one  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  fashionable  world 
were  eagerly  bent,  I  could  not  help  being  conscious  of  the 
glances  that  darted  on  me  from  every  direction.  Ernest  Lin- 
wood  was  the  loadstar  of  the  scene,  and  whoever  he  distin- 
guished by  his  attention  must  be  conspicuous  by  association.  I 
felt  this,  but  no  embarrassment  agitated  my  step  or  dyed  my 
cheek  with  blushes.  The  deep  waters  were  stirred,  stirred  to 
their  inmost  depths,  but  the  surface  was  calm  and  unruffled. 
Mrs.  Linwood  was  at  the  head  of  the  room,  the  centre  of  an  intel- 
lectual circle.  She  was  dressed,  as  usual,  in  silver  gray ;  but  the 
texture  of  her  dress  was  the  richest  satin,  shaded  by  blonde. 
The  effect  was  that  of  a  cloud  with  a  silver  lining,  and  surely 
it  was  a  fitting  attire  for  one  who  knew  how  to  give  brightness 
to  the  darkest  shadows  of  life. 

As  we  approached  her,  her  countenance  lighted  up  with 
pride  and  pleasure.  I  saw  she  was  gratified  by  my  appear- 
ance ;  that  she  was  not  ashamed  of  her  protegee.  Yet  as  we 
(ame  nearer,  I  observed  an  expression  of  the  most  tender 
anxiety,  approaching  to  sadness,  come  over  her  brow.  How 
proud  she  was  of  her  son !  She  looked  upon  him  with  a  glance 
that  would  have  been  idolatry,  had  not  God  said,  "  Thou  shalt 
not  make  unto  thyself  idols,  for  I  am  a  jealous  God." 

She  took  my  hand,  and  I  saw  her  eye  follow  the  soft  tracery 
of  pearl-flowers  that  enwreathed  neck,  arms,  and  brow.  She 
knew  who  had  thus  adorned  me,  and  her  approving  smile  sanc- 
tioned the  gifts. 

"  I  rejoice  to  see  you  look  so  well,  my  dear  child,"  she  said, 
"  I  feared  you  might  lose  the  enjoyment  of  the  evening  ;  but  I 
see  no  one  who  has  a  brighter  prospect  before  them  now." 

She  introduced  me  to  the  friends  who  surrounded  her,  and 
wished  to  give  me  a  seat  near  her ;  but  Ernest  resisted  the 
movement,  and  with  a  smiling  bow  passed  on. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD  151 

« I  am  not  disposed  to  release  you  quite  so  soon,"  said  he, 
passing  out  into  the  piazza.  "  I  see  very  plainly  that  if  I  relin- 
quish my  position  it  will  not  be  easy  to  secure  it  again.  I  am 
delighted.  I  am  charmed,  Gabriella,  to  see  that  you  have  the 
firmness  to  resist,  as  well  as  the  sensibility  to  feel.  I  am 
delighted,  too,  to  see  you  in  the  only  livery  youth  and  innocence 
should  wear  in  a  festal  scene  like  this.  I  abhor  the  gaudy  tin 
selry  which  loads  the  devotees  of  fashion,  indicative  of  false 
tastes  and  false  principles ;  but  white  and  pearls  remind  me  of 
every  thing  pure  and  holy  in  nature.  In  the  Bible  we  read  of 
the  white  robes  of  angels  and  saints.  Who  ever  dreamed  of 
clothing  them,  in  imagination,  in  dark  or  party-colored  gar- 
ments ?  In  mythology,  the  graces,  the  nymphs,  and  the  muses 
are  represented  in  snowy  garments.  In  spotless  white  the 
bride  is  led  to  the  marriage  shrine,  and  in  white  she  is  pre- 
pared for  the  last  sublime  espousals.  Do  you  know,"  added 
he,  suddenly  changing  the  theme,  as  if  conscious  he  was 
touching  upon  something  too  solemn,  "  why  I  selected  the  scarlet 
geranium  for  one  of  the  blossoms  of  your  bouquet  ?  The  first 
time  I  saw  you,  it  glowed  in  the  darkness  of  your  hair  like 
coral  in  the  ocean's  heart." 

While  he  was  speaking  he  broke  a  sprig  from  the  bouquet 
and  placed  it  in  a  wave  of  my  hair,  behind  the  band  of  pearls. 

"  Earth  and  ocean  bring  you  their  tribute,"  said  he,  and 
"  heaven  too,"  he  added ;  for  as  we  passed  by  the  pillars,  a  moon- 
beam glided  in  and  laid  its  silver  touch  on  my  brow. 

"  It  is  Edith's  hand  that  thus  adorned  me,"  I  answered,  un- 
willing he  should  believe  I  had  been  consulting  my  own  ambi- 
tious taste.  "  Had  I  been  left  to  myself,  I  should  have  sought 
no  ornament  but  these  beautiful  flowers,  doubly  precious  for  the 
feelings  of  kindness  and  compassion  that  consecrated  their  mis- 
sion." 

"  Compassion,  Gabriella !  I  should  as  soon  think  of  compas- 
sionating the  star  that  shines  brightest  in  the  van  of  night 
Compassion  looks  down  ;  kindness  implies  an  equal  ground ; 
admiration  looks  up  with  the  gaze  of  the  astronomer  and  the 
vrorship  of  the  devotee," 


152  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

"  You  forget  I  am  but  a  simple,  village  rustic.  Such  exag- 
gerated compliments  would  suit  better  the  brilliant  dames  of  the 
city.  I  would  rather  a  thousand  times  you  would  say,  '  Gabri- 
ella,  I  do  feel  kindly  towards  you,'  than  utter  any  thing  so  forma., 
and  apparently  so  insincere." 

I  was  really  hurt.  I  thought  he  was  mocking  my  credulity, 
or  measuring  the  height  and  depth  of  my  girlish  vanity.  I  did 
not  want  to  be  compared  to  a  star,  a  lone  and  distant  star,  nor 
to  think  of  him  as  an  astronomer  gazing  up  at  me  with  tele- 
scopic eye.  My  heart  was  overflowing  with  gentle,  natural 
thoughts.  I  wanted  human  sympathy,  not  cold  and  glittering 
compliments. 

"  And  do  you  expect  to  hear  the  language  of  nature  here, 
with  the  buzz  of  empty  tongues  and  the  echo  of  unmeaning 
laughs  in  the  ear ;  where,  if  a  word  of  sentiment  were  over- 
heard, it  would  be  bandied  from  lip  to  lip  with  hollow  mockery  ? 
Come  with  me  into  the  garden,  where  the  flowers  blush  in  their 
folded  leaves,  beneath  the  lovelight  of  yon  gentle  moon,  where 
the  stilly  dews  whisper  sweet  thoughts  to  the  listening  heart, 
and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  learned  in  Grandison  Place, 
under  the  elm  tree's  shade,  by  the  flower  girl  in  the  library, 
and  from  a  thousand  sources  of  which  you  have  never  dreamed." 

He  took  the  hand  which  rested  lightly  on  his  arm,  and  draw- 
ing it  closer  to  his  side  led  the  way  to  the  steps  of  the  piazza. 
1  had  dreamed  of  a  moment  like  this  in  the  golden  reveries  of 
romance,  and  imagined  it  a  foretaste  of  heaven,  but  now  I  trem- 
bled and  hesitated  like  the  fearful  fluttering  spirit  before  the 
opening  gates  of  paradise.  I  dared  not  yield  to  the  almost  irre- 
sistible temptation.  No  figures  were  gliding  along  the  solitary 
paths,  no  steps  were  brushing  away  the  dew-stars  that  had 
fallen  from  the  sky.  We  should  be  alone  in  the  moonlight  soli- 
tude ;  but  the  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Linwood  and  of  Edith  would 
find  us  out. 

"  No,  no ! "  I  cried,  shrinking  from  the  gentle  force  that 
urged  me  forward ;  "  do  not  ask  me  now.  It  would  be  better 
to  remain  where  we  are.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  an 


ERNEST    LINWOOT  153 

altered  tone,  like  that  of  a  sweet  instrument  suddenly  tr:uned; 
"but  there  is  only  one  now,  for  those  who  feai  to  trust  me, 
Gabriella." 

"  To  trust  you,  —  oh  you  cannot,  do  not  misunderstand  me 
thus ! " 

"  Why  else  do  you  shrink,  as  if  I  were  leading  you  to  a  path 
of  thorns  instead  of  one  margined  with  flowers  ?  " 

"  I  fear  tha  observations  of  the  world,  since  the  bitter  lesson 
of  the  morning." 

"  Your  fear !  You  attach  more  value  to  the  passing  remarks 
of  strangers,  than  the  feelings  of  one  who  was  beginning  tc 
believe  he  had  found  one  pure  votary  of  nature  and  of  truth. 
.It  is  well.  I  have  monopolized  your  attention  too  long." 

Calmly  and  coldly  he  spoke,  and  the  warm  light  of  his  eye 
went  out  like  lightning,  leaving  the  cloud  gloom  behind  it.  I 
was  about  to  ask  him  to  lead  me  back  to  his  mother,  in  a  tone 
as  cold  and  altered  as  his  own,  when  I  saw  her  approaching  us 
with  a  lady  whom  I  had  observed  at  the  chapel ;  for  her  large, 
black  eyes  seemed  magnetizing  me,  whenever  I  met  their  gaze. 
She  was  tall,  beyond  the  usual  height  of  her  sex,  finely 
formed,  firm  and  compact  as  a  marble  pillar.  A  brow  of  bold 
expansion,  features  of  the  Roman  contour,  clearly  cut  and 
delicately  marked  ;  an  expression  of  recklessness,  independence, 
and  self-reliance  were  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  the 
young  lady,  whom  Mrs.  Linwood  introduced  as  Miss  Melville, 
the  daughter  of  an  early  friend  of  hers. 

"  Miss  Margaret  Melville,"  she  repeated,  looking  at  her  son, 
who  stood,  leaning  with  an  air  of  stately  indifference  against  a 
pillar  of  the  piazza.  I  had  withdrawn  my  hand  from  his  arm. 
and  felt  as  if  the  breadth  of  the  frozen  ocean  was  between  us. 

"  Does  Mi-.  Ernest  Linwood  forget  his  old  friend  so  easily  ?  " 
she  asked,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  extending  a  fair  ungloved 
hand.  "  Do  you  not  remember  Madge  Wildfire,  or  Meg  the 
Dauntless,  as  the  students  used  to  call  me  ?  Or  have  I  become 
so  civilized  and  polished  that  you  do  not  recognize  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  indeed,"  said  he,  receiving  the  otfered  hand  with 
more  grace  than  eagerness,  "  but  it  is  not  so  much  the  fault  of. 


*54  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

my  memory,  as  the  marvellous  change  in  yourself.  I  must  not 
Bay  improvement,  as  that  would  imply  that  there  was  a  time 
when  you  were  susceptible  of  it." 

"  You  may  say  just  what  you  please,  for  I  like  frankness 
and  straightforwardness  as  well  as  I  ever  did ;  better,  —  a 
great  deal  better,  for  I  know  its  value  more.  And  you,  Ernest, 
I  cannot  call  you  any  thing  else,  you  are  another  and  yet  the 
same.  The  same  stately,  statue-like  being  I  used  to  try  in 
vain  to  teaze  and  torment.  It  seems  so  long  since  we  have  met 
I  expected  to  have  seen  you  quite  bent  and  hoary  with  age 
Do  tell  me  something  of  your  transatlantic  experience." 

While  she  was  speaking  in  that  peculiar  tone  of  voice  which 
reminded  one  of  a  distant  clarion,  Richard  Clyde  came  to  ma 
ou  the  other  side,  and  seeing  that  she  wished  to  engage  the 
conversation  of  Ernest,  which  she  probably  thought  I  had 
engrossed  too  long,  I  took  the  offered  arm  of  Richard  and 
returned  to  the  drawing-room.  Seeing  a  table  covered  with 
engravings,  I  directed  our  steps  there,  that  subjects  of  conver- 
sation might  be  suggested  independent  of  ourselves. 

"  How  exquisite  these  are  !  "  I  exclaimed,  taking  up  the  first 
within  my  reach  and  expatiating  on  its  beauties,  without  really 
comprehending  one  with  my  preoccupied  and  distant  thoughts. 
"  These  Italian  landscapes  are  always  charming." 

*'  I  believe  that  is  a  picture  of  the  Boston  Common,"  said  he, 
smiling  at  my  mistake ;  "  but  surely  no  Italian  landscape  can 
boast  of  such  magnificent  trees  and  such  breadth  of  verdure. 
It  is  a  whole  casket  of  emeralds  set  in  the  granite  heart  of  a 
great  city.  And  see  in  the  centre  that  pure,  sparkling  dia- 
mond, sending  out  such  rays  of  coolness  and  delight,  —  I  won- 
der you  did  not  recognize  it." 

"  I  have  seen  it  only  in  winter,  when  the  trees  exhibited 
their  wintry  dreariness,  and  little  boys  were  skating  on  the  dia- 
mond surface  of  that  frozen  water.  It  looked  very  different 
then." 

"Mr.  Linwood  could  explain  these  engravings,"  said  he, 
drawing  forwai'd  some  which  indeed  represented  Italian  ruins, 
grand  and  ivy  mantled,  where  the  owl  might  well  assert  her 


EBNEST     LIN  WOOD.  155 

solitary  domain.  "  He  has  two  great  advantages,  an  eye  en- 
lightened by  travel,  and  a  taste  fastidious  by  nature." 

"  I  do  not  admire  fastidiousness,"  I  answered  ;  "  I  do  not  like 
to  have  defects  pointed  out  to  me,  which  my  own  ignorance  does 
not  discover.  There  is  more  pleasure  in  imagining  beauties 
than  in  finding  out  faults." 

"  Will  you  think  it  a  presuming  question,  a  too  inquisitive 
one,"  he  said,  holding  up  an  engraving  between  himself  and  the 
light,  "  if  I  ask  your  candid  opinion  of  Mr.  Linwood  ?  Is  the 
world  right  in  the  character  it  has  given  ?  Has  he  all  the  pecu- 
liarities and  fascinations  it  ascribes  to  him  ?" 

He  spoke  in  a  careless  manner,  or  rather  tried  to  do  so,  but 
his  eye  burned  with  intense  emotion.  Had  he  asked  me  this 
question  a  short  time  previous,  conscious  blushes  would  have 
dyed  my  cheeks,  for  a  "  murderous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more 
soon,"  than  the  feelings  I  attempt  to  conceal ;  but  my  sensibility 
had  been  wounded,  my  pride  roused,  and  my  heart  chilled.  1 
had  discovered  within  myself  a  spirit  which,  like  the  ocean 
bark,  rises  with  the  rising  wave. 

"  If  Mr.  Linwood  had  faults,"  I  answered,  and  I  could  not 
help  smiling  at  the  attempted  composure  and  real  perturbation 
of  his  manner,  "I  would  not  speak  of  them.  Peculiarities 
he  may  have,  for  they  are  inseparable  from  genius,  —  fascina- 
tions "  —  here  their  remembrance  was  too  strong  for  my  as- 
sumed indifference,  and  my  sacred  love  of  truth  compelled  me 
to  utter,  —  "fascinations  he  certainly  possesses." 

"  In  what  do  they  consist  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Beyond  an  extremely 
gentlemanly  exterior,  I  do  not  perceive  any  peculiar  claims  to 
admiration." 

Hurt  as  I  had  been  by  Ernest's  altered  manner,  I  was  dis- 
posed to  do  justice  to  his  merits,  and  the  more  Richard  seemed 
desirous  to  depreciate  him,  the  more  I  was  willing  to  exalt  him. 
If  he  was  capable  of  the  meanness  of  envy,  I  was  resolved  to 
punish  him.  I  did  him  injustice.  He  was  not  envious,  but 
jealous ;  and  it  is  impossible  for  jealousy  and  justice  ever  to  go 
hacd  in  hand. 

"•  La  what  do  they  consist  ?  "  I  repeated.     At  that  moment  I. 


156  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

saw  liiui  through  the  window,  standing  just  where  I  had  left 
him,  leaning  with  folded  arms  against  the  pillar,  with  the  moon- 
light shining  gloriously  on  his  brow.  Miss  Melville  stood  near 
him,  talking  with  great  animation,  emphasizing  her  words  with 
quick,  decided  gesticulation,  while  he  seemed  a  passive  listener. 
I  had  seen  handsomer  gentlemen,  perhaps,  —  hut  never  one 
so  perfectly  elegant  and  refined  in  appearance.  The  pale 
transparency  of  his  complexion  had  the  purity  and  delicacy  of 
alabaster  without  its  whiteness,  seen  by  that  clear,  silvery 
light. 

"  In  what  do  they  consist  ?  In  powers  of  conversation  as 
rich  as  they  are  varied,  in  versatility  of  talents,  in  rare  culti- 
vation of  mind  and  polish  of  manner.  Let  me  see.  I  must 
give  you  a  complete  inventory  of  his  accomplishments.  He 
reads  most  charmingly,  plays  superbly,  and  sings  divinely. 
Would  you  know  his  virtues  ?  He  is  a  most  devoted  son,  a 
paragon  of  brothers,  and  a  miracle  of  a  host." 

I  believe  there  is  a  dash  of  coquetry  in  every  woman's  na- 
ture. There  must  have  been  in  mine,  or  I  could  not  have  gone 
on,  watching  the  red  thermometer  in  Richard's  cheek,  rising 
higher  and  higher,  though  what  I  said  was  truth,  unembellished 
by  imagination.  It  was  what  they  who  run  might  read.  I 
did  not  speak  of  those  more  subtle  traits  which,  were  invisible 
to  the  common  eye,  those  characters  which,  like  invisible  writ- 
ing, are  brought  out  by  a  warm  and  glowing  element. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  so  openly  in  his  praise,"  said 
Richard,  with  a  brightening  countenance  ;  "  even  if  I  deserved 
such  a  tribute,  I  should  not  wish  to  know  that  you  had  paid  it 
to  me.  I  would  prize  more  one  silent  glance,  one  conscious 
blush,  than  the  most  labored  eulogium  the  most  eloquent  lips 
could  utter." 

"  But  I  do  praise  you  very  much,"  I  answered ;  "  ask  Mrs. 
Limvood,  and  Edith,  and  Mr.  Regulus.  Ask  Mr.  Linwood 
himself." 

"  Never  speak  of  me  to  him,  Gabriella.  Let  my  feelings  be 
sacred,  if  they  are  lonely.  You  know  your  power ;  use  it 
gently,  exert  it  kiudiy." 


EKNESTLINWOOD.  157 

The  smile  of  assumed  gaiety  faded  from  my  lips,  as  big 
grave,  earnest,  sincere  accents  went  down  into  my  soul.  Could 
I  trifle  even  for  a  moment  with  an  affection  so  true  and  con- 
stant? 

Oh,  wayward  and  unappreciating  heart !  Why  could  I  not 
return  this  love,  which  might  have  made  me  so  happy  ?  Why 
was  there  no  spirit-echo  to  his  voice ;  no  quickened  pulsations 
at  the  sound  of  his  coming  footsteps  ? 

"  This  is  no  place,  Richard,  to  talk  of  ourselves,  or  I  would 
t-y  to  convince  you  that  I  am  incapable  of  speaking  lightly  of 
your  feelings,  or  betraying  them  to  a  human  being,  even  to 
Mrs;  Linwood ;  but  let  us  speak  of  something  else  now.  Do 
you  not  feel  very  happy  that  you  are  free,  —  no  more  a  slave 
to  hours  or  rules  ;  free  to  come  and  go,  when  and  where  you 
please,  with  the  whole  earth  to  roam  in, 

"  Heart  within  and  God  o'erhead  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  am  sad.  After  being  at  anchor  so  long,  to  be  sud- 
denly set  drifting,  to  be  the  sport  of  the  winds  of  destiny,  the 
cable  chain  of  habit  and  association  broken,  one  feels  dizzy 
and  bewildered.  I  never  knew  till  now  how  strong  the  class- 
mate bond  of  union  is,  how  sacred  the  brotherhood,  how  bind- 
ing the  tie.  We,  who  have  been  treading  the  same  path  for 
four  long  years,  must  now  diverge,  east,  west,  north,  and  south, 
the  great  cardinal  points  of  life.  In  all  human  probability  we 
shall  never  all  meet  again,  till  the  mysterious  problem  of  our 
destiny  is  solved." 

He  paused,  impressed  by  the  solemnity  of  this  idea,  then 
added,  in  his  natural,  animated  manner, 

"  There  is  one  hope,  Gabriella,  to  which  I  have  looked  for- 
ward as  the  sheet-anchor  of  my  soul ;  if  that  fails  me,  I  do  not 
care  what  becomes  of  me.  Sometimes  it  has  burned  so  bright- 
ly, it  has  been  my  morning  and  evening  star,  my  rising,  but  unset- 
ting  sun.  To-night  the  star  is  dim.  Clouds  of  doubt  and  appre- 
hension gather  over  it.  Gabriella,  —  I  cannot  live  in  this  sus- 
pense, and  yet  I  could  not  bear  the  confirmation  of  my  fears. 
Better  to  doubt  than  to  despair" 


158  "ERNEST    LIN  WOOD 

u  Richard,  why  will  you  persist  in  talking  of  what  cannot  bo 
explained  here  ?  Shall  we  not  meet  hereafter,  and  have  abun- 
dant opportunities  for  conversation,  free  and  uninterrupted? 
Look  around,  and  see  how  differently  other  people  are  convers- 
ing. How  lightly  and  carelessly  their  words  come  and  go, 
mingled  with  merry  laughter !  Edith  is  at  the  piano.  Let  ua 
go  where  we  can  listen,  we  cannot  do  it  here." 

"  I  am  very  selfish !  "  said  he,  yielding  to  my  suggestion. 
"  I  have  promised  my  classmates  to  introduce  them  to  you.  I 
see  some  of  them  bending  reproachful  glances  this  way.  I  must 
redeem  my  character,  so  as  not  to  incur  disgrace  in  the  parting 
hour." 

Then  followed  introductions  pressing  on  each  other,  till  I  was 
weary  of  hearing  my  own  name,  Miss  Lynn.  I  never  did  like 
to  be  called  Miss.  Still  it  was  an  unspeakable  relief  to  me,  to  be 
released  from  the  necessity  of  repressing  the  feelings  of  others, 
and  guarding  my  own.  It  was  a  relief  to  hear  those  unmean- 
ing sayings  which  are  the  current  coin  of  society,  and  to  utter 
without  effort  the  first  light  thought  that  came  floating  on  the 
surface.  The  rest  of  the  evening  I  was  surrounded  by  strangers, 
and  the  most  exacting  vanity  might  have  been  satisfied  wilh 
the  incense  I  received.  I  knew  that  the  protection  of  Mrs. 
Linwood  gave  a  prestige  to  rne  that  would  not  otherwise  have 
been  mine,  but  I  could  not  help  perceiving  that  Edith,  the 
heiress,  all  lovely  as  she  was,  was  not  half  as  much  courted 
and  admired  as  the  daughter  of  the  outcast.  I  was  too  young, 
too  much  of  a  novice,  not  to  be  pleased  with  the  attention  I  at- 
tracted ;  but  when  the  heart  is  awakened,  vanity  has  but  little 
power.  It  is  a  cold,  vapory  conceit,  that  vanishes  before  tho 
inner  warmth  and  light,  which,  like  the  sun  in  the  firmament, 
"shineth  brighter  and  brighter  to  the  perfect  day." 

After  Edith  retired  from  the  instrument  there  was  a  buzz, 
and  a  sensation,  and  Miss  Melville,  or  Meg  the  Dauntless,  as  I 
could  not  help  mentally  calling  her,  was  escorted  to  the  piano 
by  Ernest.  "What  a  contrast  she  presented  to  the  soft,  retiring, 
ethereal  Edith,  whose  every  motion  suggested  the  idea  of  mu- 
sic I  Though  her  arm  wa?  linked  in  that  of  Ernest,  she  walked 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  159 

Independently  of  hirn,  dashing  through  the  company  with  a 
brave,  military  air,  and  taking  a  seat  as  if  a  flourish  of  trum- 
pets had  heralded  her  approach.  At  first  I  was  startled  by  the 
loud  crash  of  the  keys,  as  she  threw  her  hands  upon  them  with 
all  her  force,  laughing  at  the  wild  dissonance  of  the  sound ;  but 
as  she  continued,  harmony,  if  not  sweetness,  rose  out  of  the 
chaos.  She  evidently  understood  the  science  of  music,  and  en- 
joyed it  too.  She  did  not  sing,  and  while  she  was  playing  the 
most  brilliant  polkas,  waltzes,  and  variations  with  the  most  won- 
derful execution,  she  talked  and  laughed  with  these  around  the 
instrument,  or  looked  round  the  apartment,  and  nodded  to  this 
one  and  that,  her  great  black  eyes  flashing  like  chain  lightning. 
Her  playing  seemed  to  have  a  magical  effect.  No  one  could 
keep  their  feet  still.  Even  the  dignified  president  patted  his, 
marking  the  measure  of  her  prancing  fingers.  I  could  have 
danced  wildly  myself,  for  I  never  heard  any  thing  so  inspiring 
to  the  animal  spirits  as  those  wizard  strains.  Every  counte- 
nance was  lighted  with  animation,  save  one,  and  that  was 
Ernest's.  He  stood  immovable,  pale,  cold,  and  self-involved, 
like  a  being  from  another  sphere.  I  remembered  how  differ- 
ently he  looked  when  he  wooed  me  to  the  garden's  moonlight 
walks,  and  how  the  warm  and  gentle  thoughts  that  then  beamed 
in  his  eyes  seemed  frozen  and  dead,  and  I  wondei'ed  if  they  were 
extinguished  forever. 

"  How  stupid  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Melville,  suddenly  stopping, 
and  turning  round  on  the  pivot  of  the  music  stool  till  she  com- 
manded a  full  view  of  the  drawing-room.  "I  thought  you 
•svould  all  be  dancing  by  this  time.  There  is  no  use  in  playing 
to  such  inanimate  mortals.  And  you,"  said  she,  suddenly  turn- 
ing to  Ernest,  "  you  remind  me  of  the  prince,  the  enchanted 
prince  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  only  he  was  half  marble,  you 
are  a  whole  statue.  You  do  not  like  music.  I  pity  you." 

"  I  have  my  own  peculiar  tastes,"  he  answered  quietly  ; 
"  some  nerves  are  more  delicately  strung  than  others." 

"  Do  you  imply  that  my  playing  is  too  loud  for  delicate 
nerves  :*  Why,  that  is  nothing  to  what  I  can  do.  That  is  my  com- 
pany music.  When  I  am  at  home  I  give  full  scope  to  my  powers.* 


160  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

"  We  are  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  specimen  we  have  heard, 
said  he,  smiling  ;  how  could  he  help  it  ?  and  every  one  laughed, 
none  more  heartily  than  the  gay  musician  herself.  I  never 
heard  such  a  laugh  before,  so  merry,  so  contagious;  such  a 
rich,  round,  ringing  laugh  ;  dying  away  one  moment,  then  burst- 
ing out  again  in  such  a  chorus  ! 

All  at  once  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  me,  and  starting  up,  came 
directly  to  me,  planting  her  tall,  finely  formed,  firm-set  figure  hi 
the  midst  of  the  group  around  me. 

u  Come,  you  must  play  and  sing  too.  I  have  no  doubt  your 
style  will  suit  Mr.  Linwood's  delicate  nerves." 

"  I  never  play,"  I  answered. 

"  Nor  sing  ?  " 

"  Only  at  home." 

"  You  have  a  face  of  music,  I  am  sure." 

"  Thank  you.  I  have  a  heart  to  appreciate  it ;  that  is  a  great 
gift." 

"  But  why  do  n't  you  sing  and  play  ?  How  do  you  expect  to 
pass  current  in  society,  without  being  able  to  hang  on  the  in- 
strument as  I  do,  or  creep  over  it  with  mouselike  fingers  as 
most  young  ladies  do  ?  I  suppose  you  are  very  learned  —  very 
accomplished  ?  How  many  languages  do  you  speak  ?  " 

"  Only  two  at  present,"  I  answered,  excessively  amused  by 
her  eccentricity,  and  falling  into  her  vein  with  a  facility  that 
quite  surprised  myself.  "  I  generally  find  the  English  tongue 
sufficient  to  express  my  ideas." 

"  I  suppose  one  of  the  two  is  German.  You  will  be  consid- 
ered a  mere  nobody  here,  if  you  do  not  understand  German. 
It  is  the  fashion ;  the  paroxysm ;  German  literature,  German 
taste,  and  German  transcendentalism ;  I  have  tried  them  all, 
but  they  will  not  do  for  me.  I  must  have  sunshine  and  open 
air.  I  must  see  where  I  am  going,  and  understand  what  I  am 
doing.  I  abhor  mysticism,  as  I  do  deceit.  Are  you  frank,  Mis? 
Gabriella?  You  have  such  a  pretty  name,  I  shall  take  the 
liberty  of  using  it.  Lynn  is  too  short ;  it  sounds  like  an  abbre- 
viation of  Linwood." 

"  If  you  mean  by  frankness,  a  disposition  to  tell  all  I  think 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  tol 

and  feel,  I  am  not  frank,"  I  answered,  without  noticing  her  last 
remark,  which  created  a  smile  in  others. 

"  You  do  not  like  to  hear  people  express  all  their  thoughts, 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  not.  I  like  to  have  them  winnowed  before 
they  are  uttered." 

"  Then  you  will  not  like  me,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  have 
taken  an  amazing  fancy  to  you.  Never  mind  ;  I  shall  take  you 
by  storm  when  we  get  to  Grandison  Place.  Do  you  know  I 
am  going  home  with  you  ?  Are  you  not  delighted  ?  " 

She  burst  into  one  of  her  great,  rich  laughs,  at  the  sight  of 
my  dismayed  countenance.  I  really  felt  annihilated  at  the 
thought.  There  was  something  so  overpowering,  so  redundant 
about  her,  I  expected  to  be  weighed  down,  —  overshadowed. 
She  going  to  Grandison  Place !  Alas,  what  a  transformation 
there  would  be !  Adieu  to  the  quiet  walks,  the  evening  read- 
ings, the  morning  flower  gatherings ;  adieu  to  sentiment  and 
tranquillity,  to  poetry  and  romance.  Why  had  Mrs.  Linwood 
invited  so  strange  a  guest  ?  Perhaps  she  was  self-invited. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  am  going  for,"  she  said,  bending  her  face 
to  mine  and  speaking  in  a  whisper  that  sounded  like  a  whistle 
in  my  ear;  "I  am  going  to  animate  that  man  of  stone.  Why 
have  not  you  done  it,  juxtaposited  as  you  are?  You  do  not 
make  use  of  the  fire-arms  with  which  nature  has  supplied  you. 
If  I  had  such  a  pair  of  eyes,  I  would  slay  like  David  my  tens 
of  thousands  every  day." 

"The  difficulty  would  be  in  finding  victims,"  I  answered. 
"  The  inhabitants  of  the  town  where  I  reside  do  not  number 
more  than  "two  or  three  thousand." 

"  Oh !  I  would  make  it  populous.  I  would  draw  worship- 
pers from  the  four  points  of  the  earth,  —  and  yet  it  would  be 
a  greater  triumph  to  subdue  one  proud,  hitherto  impregnable 
iieart." 

Her  eyes  flashed  like  gunpowder  as  she  uttered  this,  sotto 
vocc  it  is  true,  but  still  loud  enough  to  be  heard  half  across  the 
room. 

"  Goodby,"  she   suddenly  exclaimed,  "  they  are   beckoning 


162  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

me ;  I  must  go ;  try  to  like  me.  precious  creature ;  I  shall  be 
quite  miserable  if  you  do  not." 

Then  passing  her  arm  round  me,  an  arm  firm,  polished,  and 
white  as  ivory,  she  gave  me  a  loud,  emphatic  kiss,  laughed,  and 
left  me  almost  as  much  confused  as  if  one  of  the  other  sox  had 
taken  the  same  liberty. 

"  Is  she,"  thought  I,  "  a  young  man  in  disguise  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

WHAT  am  I  writing  ? 

Sometimes  I  throw  down  the  pen,  saying  to  myself,  "  it  is  aD 
folly,  all  verbiage.  There  is  a  history  within  worth  perus- 
ing, but  I  cannot  bring  it  forth  to  light.  I  turn  over  page  after 
page  with  the  fingers  of  thought.  I  see  characters  glowing  or 
darkened  with  passion,  —  lines  alternately  bright  and  shadowy, 
distinct  and  obscure,  and  it  seems  an  easy  thing  to  make  a 
transcript  of  these  for  the  outward  world." 

Easy !  it  requires  the  recording  angel's  pen  to  register  the 
history  of  the  human  heart.  "  The  thoughts  that  breathe,  the 
thoughts  that  burn,"  how  can  they  be  expressed  ?  The  mere 
act  of  clothing  them  in  words  makes  them  grow  cold  and 
dull.  The  molten  gold,  the  fused  iron  hardens  and  chills  in  the 
forming  mould. 

Easy !  "  Oh  yes,"  the  critic  says,  "  it  is  an  easy  thing  to 
write ;  only  follow  nature,  and  you  cannot  err."  But  nature  is 
as  broad  as  the  universe,  as  high  as  the  heavens,  and  as  deep 
as  the  seas.  It  is  but  a  small  portion  we  can  condense  even  on 
hundreds  of  pages  of  foolscap  paper.  If  that  portion  be  of 
love,  the  cold  philosopher  turns  away  in  disdain  and  talks  of 
romantic  maids  and  moonstruck  boys,  as  if  the  subject  were  fit. 
alone  for  them.  And  yet  love  is  the  great  motive  principle  of 
nature,  the  burning  sun  of  the  social  system.  Blot  it  out,  and 
every  other  feeling  and  passion  would  sink  in  the  darkness  of 
eternal  night.  Byron's  awful  dream  would  be  realized,— 
darkness  would  indeed  be  the  universe.  They  who  praise  a 
writer  for  omitting  love  from  the  page  which  purports  to  be  a 
record  of  life,  would  praise  God  for  creating  a  world,  over 
11  063) 


164  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

whose  sunless  realms  no  warmth  or  light  was  diffused,  (if  such 
a  creation  were  possible,)  —  a  world  without  flowers  or  music, 
without  hope  or  joy. 

But  as  the  sun  is  only  an  emanation  from  the  first  great 
fountain  of  light  and  glory,  so  love  is  but  an  effluence  from  the 
eternal  source  of  love  divine. 

"  Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate."  And  woe  to 
her,  who,  forgetting  this  heavenly  union,  bathes  her  heart  in  the 
earthly  stream,  without  seeking  the  living  spring  whence  it 
flows ;  who  worships  the  fire-ray  that  falls  upon  the  altar,  with- 
out giving  glory  to  him  from  whom  it  descended.  The  stream 
will  become  a  stagnant  pool,  exhaling  pestilence  and  death  ; 
the  fire-ray  will  kindle  a  devouring  flame,  destroying  the  altar, 
with  the  gift  and  the  heart  a  burning  bush,  that  will  blaze  for- 
ever without  consuming. 

Whither  am  I  wandering? 

Imagine  me  now,  in  a  very  different  scene  to  the  president's 
illuminated  drawing-room.  Instead  of  the  wild  buzzing  of 
mingling  voices,  I  hear  the  mournful  sighing  of  the  breeze 
through  the  weeping  grave  trees ;  and  ever  and  anon  there 
comes  a  soft,  stealing  sound  through  the  long,  swaying  grass, 
like  the  tread  of  invisible  feet.  I  am  alone  with  my  mother's 
spirit.  The  manuscript,  that  is  to  reveal  the  mystery  of  my 
parentage,  is  in  my  hand.  The  hour  is  come,  when  without 
violating  the  commands  of  the  dead,  I  may  claim  it  as  my  own, 
and  remove  the  hermetic  seal  which  death  has  stamped.  Where 
else  could  I  read  it  ?  My  own  room,  once  so  serenely  quiet, 
was  no  longer  a  sanctuary,  —  for  Margaret  Melville  dashed 
through  the  house,  swinging  open  the  doors  as  abruptly  as  a 
March  wind,  and  her  laugh  filled  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  capacious  mansion.  How  could  I  unseal  the  sacred  history 
of  my  mother's  sorrows  within  the  sound  of  that  loud,  echoing 
ha,  ha? 

I  could  not ;  so  I  stole  away  to  a  spot,  where  sacred  silence 
has  set  up  its  everlasting  throne.  The  sun  had  not  yet  gone 
down,  but  the  shadows  of  the  willows  lengthened  on  the  grass 
I  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  grave  leaning  against  a  marble  slab,  an^ 


ERNEST     IINWOOD.  165 

unsealed,  with  cold  and  trembling  hands,  my  mother's  he  irt,  for 
so  that  manuscript  seemed  to  me. 

At  first  I  could  not  see  the  lines,  for  my  tears  rained  down  so 
fast  they  threatened  to  obliterate  the  delicate  characters ;  but 
after  repeated  efforts  I  acquired  composure  enough  to  read  the 
following  brief  and  thrilling  history.  It  was  the  opening  of  the 
sixth  seal  of  my  life.  The  stars  of  hope  fell,  as  a  fig-tree 
casteth  her  untimely  figs  when  she  is  shaken  by  a  mighty  wind, 
and  the  heaven  of  my  happiness  departed  as  a  scroll  when  it  is 
rolled  together,  and  the  mountains  and  islands  of  human  trust 
were  moved  out  of  their  places. 


MY  MOTHER'S  HISTORY. 

"  Gabriella,  before  your  eyes  shall  rest  on  these  pages,  mino 
will  be  closed  in  the  slumbers  of  death.  Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled,  •  iny  only  beloved,  at  the  record  of  wrongs  which  no 
longer  corrode ;  of  sorrows  which  are  all  past  away.  '  In  my 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions,'  and  one  of  them  is  prepared 
for  me.  It  is  my  Saviour's  promise,  and  I  believe  it  as  firmly 
as  if  I  saw  the  golden  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  where 
that  heavenly  mansion  is  built. 

"  Weep  not,  then,  my  child,  my  orphan  darling,  over  a  past 
which  cannot  be  recalled;  let  not  its  shadow  rest  too  darkly 
upon  you,  —  if  there  is  joy  in  the  present,  be  grateful ;  if  there 
is  hope  in  the  future,  rejoice. 

"  You  have  often  asked  me  to  tell  you  where  I  lived  when  I 
was  a  little  child ;  whether  my  home  was  a  gray  cottage  like 
ours,  in  the  woods  ;  and  whether  I  had  a  mother  whom  I  loved 
as  dearly  as  you  loved  me.  I  have  told  you  that  my  first  feeble 
lire-wail  mingled  with  her  dying  groan,  and  you  wondered  how 
one  could  live  without  a  mother's  love. 

"I  was  born  in  that  rugged  fortress,  whose  embattled  walls  are 
washed  by  the  majestic  Bay  of  Chesapeake.  My  father  held 
a  captain's  commission  in  the  army,  and  was  stationed  for  many 
years  at  this  magnificent,  insulated  bulwark.  My  father,  at  the 


1*6  ERKEST     LINWOOD. 

time  of  my  mother's  death,  was  a  young  and  gallant  officer,  and 
T  was  his  only  child.  It  is  not  strange  that  he  should  marry 
again ;  for  the  grief  of  man  seldom  survives  the  allotted  period 
of  mourning,  and  it  was  natural  that  he  should  select  a  gay  and 
brilliant  woman,  for  the  second  choice  is  generally  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  first.  My  mother,  I  am  told,  was  one  of  those 
gentle,  dove-like,  pensive  beings,  who  nestled  in  her  husband's 
heart,  and  knew  no  world  beyond.  My  step-mother  loved  the 
world  and  its  pleasures  better  than  husband,  children,  and  home. 
She  had  children  of  her  own,  who  were  more  the  objects  of  her 
pride  than  her  love.  Every  day,  they  were  dressed  for  exhibi- 
tion, petted  and  caressed,  and  then  sent  back  to  the  nursery, 
where  they  could  not  interfere  with  the  pleasures  of  their  fash- 
ionable mamma.  Could  I  expect  those  tender  cares  which  the 
yearning  heart  of  childhood  craves,  as  its  daily  sustenance  ? 
She  was  not  harsh  or  despotic,  but  careless  and  indifferent. 
She  did  not  care  for  me  ;  and  provided  I  kept  out  of  her  way, 
she  was  willing  I  should  amuse  myself  in  the  best  manner  I 
pleased.  My  father  was  kind  and  caressing,  when  he  had 
leisure  to  indulge  his  parental  sensibilities ;  but  he  could  not 
sympathize  in  my  childish  joys  and  sorrows,  for  I  dared  not 
confide  them  to  him.  He  was  a  man,  and,  moreover,  there  was 
something  in  the  gilded  pomp  of  his  martial  dress,  that  inspired 
too  much  awe  for  childish  familiarity.  I  used  to  gaze  at  him, 
when  he  appeared  on  military  parade,  as  if  he  were  one  of  the 
demi-gods  of  the  ancient  world.  He  had  an  erect  and  warlike 
bearing,  a  proud,  firm  step,  and  his  gold  epaulette  with  its  glit- 
tering tassels  flashing  in  the  sunbeams,  his  crimson  sash  con- 
trasting so  splendidly  with  the  military  blue,  his  shining  sword 
and  waving  plume, — all  impressed  me  with  a  grandeur  that 
was  overpowering.  It  dazzled  my  eye,  but  did  not  warm  my 
young  hqart. 

"  As  I  grew  older,  I  exhibited  a  remarkable  love  of  reading, 
and  as  no  one  took  the  trouble  to  direct  my  tastes,  I  seized 
every  book  which  came  within  my  reach  and  devoured  it,  with 
the  avidity  of  a  hungry  and  unoccupied  mind.  My  father  was 
a  gentleman  of  pure  and  elegant  taste,  and  had  he  dreamed  that 


EBNESTLINWOOD.  167 

I  was  exposed,  without  guardianship,  to  dangerous  influences,  LQ 
would  have  shielded  and  warned  me.  But  he  believed  the  care 
of  children  under  twelve  years  of  age  devolved  on  their  mother, 
and  he  was  always  engrossed  with  the  duties  of  a  profession 
which  he  passionately  loved,  or  the  society  of  his  brother  officers, 
usually  so  fascinating  and  convivial. 

"  I  used  to  take  my  book,  which  was  generally  some  wild, 
impassioned  romance,  and  wandering  to  the  ramparts,  seat  my- 
self by  the  shining  pyramids  of  cannon-balls  ;  and  while  the 
blue  waves  of  the  Chesapeake  rolled  in  murmuring  music  by, 
or,  lashed  by  the  ocean  wind,  heaved  in  foaming  billows,  roaring 
against  the  walls,  I  yielded  myself  to  the  wizard  spell  of  genius 
and  passion.  The  officers  as  they  passed  would  try  to  break 
the  enchantment  by  gay  and  sportive  words,  but  all  in  vain. 
I  have  sat  there,  drenched  by  the  salt  sea-spray,  and  knew  it 
not.  I  was  called  the  little  bookworm,  the  prodigy,  the  dream- 
girl,  a  name  you  have  inherited,  my  darling  Gabriella  ;  and  my 
father  seemed  proud  of  the  reputation  I  had  established.  But 
while  my  imagination  was  preternaturally  developed,  my  heart 
was  slumbering,  and  my  soul  unconscious  of  life's  great  aim. 

"  Thus  unguarded  by  precept,  unguided  by  example,  I  was 
sent  from  home  to  a  boarding-school,  where  I  acquired  the  usual 
education  and  accomplishments  obtained  at  fashionable  female 
seminaries.  During  my  absence  from  home,  my  two  step-sisters, 
who  were  thought  too  young  to  accompany  me,  and  my  infant 
step-brother,  died  in  the  space  of  one  week,  smitten  by  that 
destroying  angel  of  childhood,  the  scarlet  fever. 

"  I  had  been  at  school  two  years  when  I  made  my  first  visit 
home.  My  step-mother  was  then  in  the  weeds  of  mourning, 
and  of  course  excluded  herself  in  a  measure  from  gay  society ; 
but  I  marvelled  that  sorrow  had  not  impaired  the  bloom  of  her 
cheek,  or  quenched  the  sparkle  of  her  cold,  bright  eye.  Her 
heart  was  not  buried  in  the  grave  of  her  children,  —  it  belonged 
to  the  world,  to  which  she  panted  to  return. 

"  But  my  father  mourned.  There  was  a  shadow  on  his  man- 
ly brow,  which  I  had  never  seen  before.  I  was,  now,  his  only 
child,  the  representative  of  his  once  beloved  Rosalie,  and  th» 


168  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

pure,  fond  love  of  his  early  years  revived  again  in  me.  I  look 
back  upon  those  two  months,  when  I  basked  in  the  sunshine 
of  parental  tenderness  for  the  first,  the  only  time,  as  a  portion 
of  my  life  most  dear  and  holy.  I  sighed  when  I  thought  of 
the  years  when  we  had  been  comparatively  so  far  apart,  and 
my  heart  grew  to  his  with  tender  adhesiveness  and  growing 
love.  The  affections,  which  rny  worldly  step-mother  had  chilled 
and  repressed,  and  which  the  death  of  his  other  children  had 
blighted,  were  now  all  mine,  renovated  and  warmed. 

"  Oh,  Gabriella !  very  precious  is  a  father's  love.  It  is  an 
emblem  of  the  love  of  God  for  the  dependent  beings  he  has 
created ;  so  kind,  so  protecting,  so  strong,  and  yet  so  tender ! 
Would  to  God,  my  poor,  defrauded  child,  you  could  have 
known  what  this  God-resembling  love  is,  —  but  your  orphanage 
has  been  the  most  sad,  the  most  dreary,  —  the  most  unhallowed. 
Almighty  Father  of  the  universe,  have  mercy  on  my  child ! 
Protect  and  bless  her  when  this  wasting,  broken  heart  no  longer 
beats ;  when  the  frail  shield  of  a  mother's  love  is  taken  from 
her,  and  she  is  left  alone  —  alone  —  alone.  Oh  !  my  God, 
have  pity  —  have  pity !  Forsake  her  not ! " 

The  paper  was  blistered  with  the  tears  of  the  writer.  I 
dropped  it  on  the  grave,  unable  to  go  on.  I  cast  myself  on  the 
grass-covered  mould,  and  pressed  it  to  my  bosom,  as  if  there 
was  vitality  in  the  cold  clods. 

"  Oh,  my  mother ! "  I  exclaimed,  and  strange  and  dreary 
sounded  my  voice  in  that  breathing  stillness.  "  Has  God  heard 
thy  prayers  ?  Will  he  hear  the  cries  of  the  fatherless  ?  Will 
he  have  pity  on  my  forsaken  youth  ?  " 

I  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  realized  that  this  mighty 
God  was  near ;  that  he  indeed  cared  with  a  father's  love  for  the 
orphan  mourner,  committed  in  faith  to  his  all-embracing  arms. 
But  I  still  worshipped  him  as  far-off,  enthroned  on  high,  in  the 
heaven  of  heavens,  which  cannot  contain  the  full  glory  of  his 
presence.  I  saw  him  on  the  burning  mountain,  in  the  midst  of 
thunder  and  lightning  and  smoke,  —  a  God  of  consuming  fire, 
before  whose  breath  earthly  joys  and  hopes  withered  and  dried, 
like  blossoms  cast  into  the  furnace. 


KRNESTLINWOOD.  16*. 

Put  did  not  God  once  hide  his  face  of  love  from  his  own 
begotten  Son  ?  And  shall  not  the  eloi,  ehi,  lama  sabachthani 
of  the  forsaken  heart  sometimes  ascend  amid  the  woes  and 
trials  and  wrongs  of  life,  from  the  great  mountain  of  human 
misery,  the  smoking  Sinai,  whose  clouded  summit  quakes  with 
the  footsteps  of  Deity  ? 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

I  AGAIN  resumed  the  manuscript,  trembling  for  the  revela- 
tions which  it  might  make. 

"  Never  again,"  wrote  my  mother,  "  did  I  hehold  my  noble, 
gallant  father.  His  death  was  sudden,  as  if  shot  down  in  the 
battle  field,  without  one  warning  weakness  or  pain.  In  the 
green  summer  of  his  days  he  fell,  and  long  did  my  heart  vibrate 
from  the  shock.  How  desolate  to  me  was  the  home  to  which  I 
returned !  The  household  fire  was  indeed  extinguished.  The 
household  god  laid  low.  I  saw  at  one  glance  that  in  my  breast 
alone  his  memory  was  enshrined ;  that  there  alone  was  sacred 
incense  burning.  Mrs.  Lynn,  (I  will  speak  of  her  by  her  name 
hereafter,)  though  only  one  year  had  passed  since  his  death, 
was  assuming  those  light,  coquettish  airs  which  accord  as  little 
with  the  robes  of  widowhood  as  the  hues  of  the  rainbow  or  the 
garlands  of  spring. 

"  I  saw  with  exquisite  pain  and  shame,  that  she  looked  upon 
me  as  a  rival  of  her  maturer  charms,  and  gladly  yielded  to  my 
wish  for  retirement.  She  always  spoke  of  me  as  '  the  child,' 
the  'little  bookworm,'  impressing  upon  the  minds  of  all  the 
idea  of  my  extreme  juvenility.  I  was  young;  but  I  had 
arrived  to  years  of  womanhood,  and  my  stature  equalled  hers. 

"  I  will  pass  on  to  the  scene  which  decided  my  destiny.  1  do 
not  wish  to  swell  the  volume  of  my  life.  Let  it  be  brief  as  it 
is  sad. 

"  Very  near  the  fortress  is  another  rocky  bulwark,  rising  out 
of  the  waves  in  stern  and  rugged  majesty,  known  by  the  pecu- 
liar name  of  the  Rip-Raps.  It  is  the  work  of  man.  who  paved 
the  ocean  bed  with  rocks,  and  conceived  the  dosign  of  a  lofty 
(170) 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  171 

castle,  from  whose  battlements  the  star-spangled  banner  should 
wave,  and  whose  massy  turrets  should  perpetuate  the  honors 
of  Carolina's  most  gifted  son.  The  design  was  grand,  but  has 
never  been  completed.  It  has,  however,  finished  apartments, 
which  form  a  kind  of  summer  hotel,  where  many  statesmen  often 
resort,  that  they  may  lay  down,  for  a  while,  the  burden  of  care, 
and  breathe  an  atmosphere  pure  from  political  corruption,  and 
cool  from  party  zeal  and  strife. 

"  At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  the  chief  magistrate  of  the 
nation  sought  refuge  there  for  a  short  while,  from  the  oppressive 
responsibilities  of  his  exalted  station,  and  regardless  of  his  wish 
for  retirement,  or  rather  irresistibly  impelled  to  pay  honors  to 
one  whose  brows  were  wreathed  with  the  soldier's  laurel  as  well 
as  the  statesman's  crown,  every  one  sought  his  rocky  and 
wave-washed  retreat. 

"  Mrs.  Lynn  joined  a  party  of  ladies,  who,  escorted  by  officers, 
•went  over  in  barges  to  be  introduced  to  the  gallant  veteran. 
The  martial  spirit  of  my  father  throbbed  high  in  my  bosom,  and 
I  longed  to  behold  one,  whom  he  would  have  delighted  to 
honor.  Mrs.  Lynn  did  not  urge  me,  but  there  were  others  who 
supplied  her  deficiency,  and  convinced  me  I  was  notr  considered 
an  intruder.  Among  the  gentlemen  who  composed  our  party 
was  a  stranger,  by  the  name  of  St.  James,  to  whom  Mrs.  Lynn 
paid  the  most  exclusive  attention.  She  was  still  in  the  bloom 
of  womanhood,  and  though  far  from  being  beautiful,  was  showy 
and  attractive.  All  the  embellishments  of  dress  were  called 
into  requisition  to  enhance  the  charms  of  nature,  and  to  produce 
the  illusion  of  youth.  She  always  sought  the  admiration  of 
strangers,  and  Mr.  St.  James  was  sufficiently  distinguished  in 
appearance  to  render  him  worthy  of  her  fascinations.  I  merely 
noticed  that  he  had  a  fine  person,  a  graceful  air,  and  a  musical 
voice;  then  casting  my  eyes  on  the  sea-green  waters,  over  which 
our  light  barge  was  bounding,  I  did  not  lift  them  again  till  we 
were  near  the  dark  gray  rocks  of  the  Rip-Raps,  and  I  beheld 
on  the  brink  of  the  stone  steps  we  were  to  ascend,  a  tall  and 
stately  form,  whose  foam-white  locks  were  rustling  in  the  breeze 
of  ocean.  There  he  stood,  like  the  statue  of  liberty,  throned 


172  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

on  a  granite  cliff,  with  waves  rolling  below  and  sunbeams  rest- 
ing on  his  brow. 

"  As  we  stepped  from  the  barge  and  ascended  the  rugged  steps, 
the  chieftain  bent  his  warlike  figure  and  drew  us  to  the  platform 
with  all  the  grace  and  gallantry  of  youth.  As  I  was  the  young- 
est of  the  party,  he  received  me  with  the  most  endearing  famil- 
iarity. I  almost  thought  he  was  going  to  kiss  me,  so  close  he 
brought  his  bronzed  cheek  to  mine. 

" '  God  bless  you,  my  child  ! '  said  he,  taking  both  hands  in 
his  and  looking  earnestly  in  my  face.  '  I  knew  your  father  Ayell 
He  was  a  gallant  officer,  —  a  noble,  honest  man.  Peace  to  his 
ashes !  The  soldier  fills  an  honored  grave.' 

"  This  tribute  to  my  father's  memory  filled  my  eyes  with  tears, 
while  my  cheek  glowed  with  gratified  pride.  I  was  proud  that 
I  was  a  soldier's  daughter,  proud  to  hear  his  praise  from  the 
lips  of  valor  and  of  rank. 

"  I  had  brought  a  beautiful  bouquet  of  flowers  as  a  girlish 
offering  to  the  veteran.  I  had  been  thinking  of  something 
pretty  and  poetical  to  say  when  I  presented  it,  but  the  words 
died  on  my  lips,  and  I  extended  it  in  silence  with  the  trembling 
hand  of  diffidence. 

" '  Now,'  said  he,  with  a  benignant  smile,  turning  the  flowers 
round  and  round,  as  if  admiring  them  all,  '  I  am  the  envy  of 
every  young  man  present.  They  would  all  exchange  the  lau- 
rels of  the  soldier  for  the  blossoms  gathered  by  the  hand  of 
beauty.' 

" '  Let  me  have  the  privilege  of  holding  them  for  you,  sir 
while  we  remain,'  said  Mr.  St.  James,  with  a  courtly  grace 
consistent  with  the  name  he  bore,  and  they  were  submitted  with 
equal  courtesy  to  his  keeping. 

"  These  are  trifles  to  relate,  my  Gabriella,  but  they  had  an  in- 
fluence on  my  life  and  yours.  They  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
'lislike  and  jealousy  in  the  mind  of  my  step-mother,  that  em- 
bittered all  our  fulure  intercourse.  'The  child'  was  distin- 
guished, not  only  by  the  hero  »vho  was  the  lion  of  the  scene,  but 
by  the  stranger  she  was  resolved  to  charm,  and  her  usually  bright 
countenance  was  cl  'ided  with  malice  and  diszonteut.  Forget 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  173 

ful  of  politeness,  she  hurried  away  those  who  came  in  th  t  same 
banre  with  herself,  anxious  to  see  me  immured  once  more  in  the 
walls  of  the  Fort. 

"After  our  distinguished  host  had  bidden  farewell  to  his  elder 
guest?.,  whom  he  accompanied  to  the  steps,  he  turned  to  me  with 
a  look  so  beuign  and  affectionate  I  never  shall  forget  it.  and 
stooping,  kissed  my  forehead. 

"  *  A?  your  father's  friend,  and  your  country's  father,  dear 
child,  permit  me  '  —  he  said,  then  giving  my  hand  to  St.  James, 
who  was  waiting  to  assist  me  into  the  barge,  bowed  a  dignilied 
adieu. 

" '  You  do  indeed  make  us  envy  you,  sir,'  cried  St.  James,  as 
he  stood  with  uncovered  head  in  the  centre  of  the  boat,  while  it 
glided  from  the  walls,  and  holding  up  the  bouquet  which  he  had 
Lad  the  boldness  to  retain. 

*'  The  statesman  smiled  and  shook  his  snow -crowned  head,  and 
there  h*5  s:-ood,  long  after  we  receded  from  the  rocks,  his  tall, 
erect  figure  defined  on  the  dark  blue  sky. 

"  I  nev~r  saw  that  noble  form  again.  The  brave  old  soldier 
d5fd  a  sol  lier  of  the  Cross,  and  fills  a  Christian's  grave.  He 
deeps  in  death,  embosomed  in  the  quiet  shades  he  loved  best 
blifa. 

'  And  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  deck  the  turf  that  wraps  his  clay/ 

"  I  did  not  think  of  paying  this  tribute  to  his  memory ;  but 
that  scere  was  so  indelibly  stamped  on  my  mind,  I  could  not 
help  delineating  it.  It  was  then  and  there  I  first  beheld  your 
father. 

"  The  barge  was  rowed  by  eight  soldiers,  dressed  in  uniform, 
and  their  oars  all  dipped  and  flashed  with  simultaneous  motion. 
Nothing  could  be  more  harmoniously  beautiful;  but  the  rest- 
less spirit  of  Mrs.  Lynn  suggested  a  change. 

"  '  Raise  the  sail,'  she  exclaimed,  '  this  is  too  monotonous.  I 
prefer  it  a  thousand  times  to  rowing.' 

"'I  beg,  I  entreat,  madam,'  cried  I,  unable  to  repress  my  ap* 
prehensions,  '  do  not  have  it  done  now.  I  am  very  foolish, 
but  I  cannot  help  it,  indeed  I  cannot.' 


174  BSNEST     UN  WOOD. 

"  I  was  not  accustomed  to  the  water  as  she  was,  having  been 
absent  so  long;  and  even  when  a  child,  I  had  an  unconquerable 
dread  of  sailing.  She  knew  this,  and  it  prompted  her  sugges- 
tion. 

"  '  Affectation  of  fear  may  be  pardoned  in  a  ckUdy  Rosalie, 
said  she,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  '  but  it  is  nevertheless  very  un- 
becoming.' 

" '  Do  not  indulge  one  apprehension,'  exclaimed  St.  James, 
stepping  over  one  of  the  seats  and  sitting  down  at  my  side.  '  I 
am  one  of  the  best  sailors  in  the  world.  Non  timui  —  Cccsurem 
veJiis.  Give  the  sails  to  the  winds,  boys.  I  will  make  them  my 
vassals.' 

"  His  eyes  beamed  with  conscious  power,  as  the  white  sheet 
unrolled  and  swelled  gracefully  in  the  breeze.  It  was  strange, 
all  my  fears  were  gone,  and  I  felt  as  serene  a  confidence  as  if 
his  vaunting  words  were  true.  The  strong  will,  the  magic 
smile  were  acting  on  me  like  a  spell,  and  I  yidlod  unresist- 
ingly to  their  influence. 

"  Mrs.  Lynn  would  gladly  have  revoked  her  commands, 
since  they  had  called  forth  such  an  expression  of  ii.t-?rest  for 
me  ;  but  the  boat  swept  on  with  triumphant  speed,  and  even  I 
participated  in  the  exhilaration  of  its  motion.  Just  before  wa 
reached  the  shore,  Mrs.  Lynn  bent  forward  and  took  the  flowers 
from  the  hand  of  St.  James  before  he  was  aware  of  her  de- 
sign. 

"  '  Is  that  mignonette  which  is  so  oppressively  fragrant  ? ' 
she  asked,  lifting  the  bouquet  to  her  nose.  She  was  seated  near 
the  side  of  the  barge,  and  her  head  was  gracefully  inclined. 
Whether  from  accident  or  design,  I  think  it  was  the  latter,  the 
flowers  dropped  into  the  river. 

"  In  the  flashing  of  an  eye- glance,  St.  James  leaped  over  the 
boat  side,  seized  the  flowers,  held  them  up  in  triumph  over  his 
head,  and  swam  to  the  shore.  He  stood  there  with  dripping 
garments  and  smiling  lips  as  we  landed,  while  the  paleness  of 
terror  still  blanched  my  face,  and  its  agitation  palpitated  in  my 
heart. 

u '  I  must  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  escorting  you  to  tho 


EKNEST     LIN  WOOD.  175 

threshold,'  said  he,  glancing  at  me,  while  he  shook  the  brine- 
drops  from  his  arms.  His  head  had  not  been  submerged.  He 
had  held  that  royally  above  the  waves.  '  But/  added  he,  with 
graceful  gallantry,  '  I  have  rescued  a  trophy  which  I  had 
silently  vowed  to  guard  with  my  life ;  —  a  treasure  doubly 
consecrated  by  the  touch  of  valor  and  the  hand  of  beauty.' 

" '  Weil,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lynn,  as  soon  as  we  were  at  home, 
tossing  her  bonnet  disdainfully  on  the  sofa,  'if  I  ever  was 
disgusted  with  boldness  and  affectation  I  have  been  to-day. 
But  one  thing  let  me  tell  you,  Miss  Rosalie,  if  you  cannot  learn 
more  propriety  of  manners,  if  you  make  such  sickening  efforts 
to  attract  the  attention  of  strangers,  I  will  never  allow  you  to 
go  in  public,  at  least  in  company  with  me.' 

"  I.  was  perfectly  thunderstruck.  She  had  never  given  such 
an  exhibition  of  temper  before.  I  had  always  thought  her 
cold  and  selfish,  but  she  seemed  to  have  a  careless  good-nature, 
which  did  not  prepare  me  for  this  ebullition  of  passion.  I  did 
not  reflect  that  this  was  the  first  time  I  had  clashed  with  her 
interests,  —  that  inordinate  vanity  is  the  parent  of  envy,  hatred, 
and  all  uncharitableness. 

"  I  did  not  attempt  to  reply,  but  hastily  turned  to  leave  the 
room.  She  b.»^.  been  my  father's  wife,  and  the  sacredness  of 
his  name  shielded  her  from  disrespect. 

"  '  Stop,  Miss,'  she  cried,  '  and  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  If 
Mr.  St.  James  calls  this  evening,  you  are  not  to  make  your  ap- 
pearance. He  was  only  making  sport  of  your  childishness 
to-day,  and  cares  no  more  for  you  than  the  sands  of  the  sea- 
shore. He  is  no  company  for  you,  I  assure  you.  He  is  a  gen- 
tleman of  the  world,  and  has  no  taste  for  the  bread  and  butter 
misses  just  let  loose  from  a  boarding-school  Do  you  hear 
me  ?' 

" '  I  do,  madam.' 

" '  Do  you  mean  tu  obey  ? ' 

"  '  I  do;  madam.' 

"  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  my  feelings  that  night  as  I 
eat  alone  in  my  room,  and  heard  the  voice  of  St.  James  ming- 
ling with  my  step- mother's,  which  was  modulated  to  its  sweet- 


176  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

est,  most  seductive  tone.  The  desolateness  of  my  future  Ufa 
spread  out  before  me.  A  home  without  love!  Oh,  what  dreari- 
ness !  Oh,  what  iciness !  Had  my  father  lived,  how  different 
it  would  have  been.  I  thought  of  the  happy  vacation,  when 
he  opened  his  warm  heart  and  took  me  in,  and  then  I  wept  to 
think  how  cold  the  world  seemed  since  he  had  left  it. 

"  It  was  a  midsummer's  night,  and  all  the  windows  were  open 
to  admit  the  sea-born  breeze.  They  were  open,  but  bars  of 
gauzs  wire  were  put  up  at  the  windows  and  doors  to  exclude 
the  mosquitos.  A  very  small  balcony  opened  out  of  my 
room,  where  1  usually  sat  listening  to  the  inspiring  strains  of  the 
band,  that,  marching  on  the  ramparts,  sent  their  rich,  thrilling 
notes  in  rolling  echoes  over  the  moonlight  waves. 

"  It  was  playing  now,  that  martial  band,  and  the  bay  was  one 
sheet  of  burning  silver.  I  had  never  seen  it  look  so  recplea 
dently  beautiful,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  beneath  that 
gently  rippling  glory,  there  was  peace  for  the  sad  and  perse- 
cuted heart.  As  I  sat  there  leaning  on  the  railing,  gating  into 
the  shining  depths  of  ocean,  St.  James  passed.  It  was  very 
early  in  the  evening.  Why  had  he  left  so  soon?  He  sta,rte2, 
paused,  turned,  and  approached  the  balcony. 

" '  Why  are  you  so  cruel  as  to  refuse  to  see  me,  after  showing 
such  knightly  devotion  to  your  cause  ? '  he  asked,  leaning  un 
the  side  of  the  balcony  and  looking  earnestly  in  my  face,  on 
which  the  tear-drops  were  still  glittering. 

" '  I  have  not  refused,'  I  answered  hastily,  '  but  do  not  wait 
to  talk  with  me  now.  Mrs.  Lynn  would  be  much  displeased ; 
she  would  consider  it  very  improper.  I  pray  you  not  to  think 
me  rude,  but  indeed  I  must  retire.' 

"  I  rose  in  an  agony  of  terror,  lest  my  step-mother  should  hear 
his  voice,  and  wreak  her  wrath  on  me. 

"'Fear  not,'  he  cried,  catching  my  hand  and  detaining  me. 
'She  is  engaged  with  company,  who  will  *?.ct  hasten  away  as  I 
have  done.  I  will  not  stay  long,  nor  utter  one  syllable  that  is 
not  in  harmony  with  the  holy  tranquillity  of  the  hour.  I  am  a 
stranger  in  name,  but  is  there  not  something  that  tells  you  I 
was  born  to  be  your  friend  ?  I  know  there  is,  —  I  pee  it  in 


EKNEST    LIN  WOOD.  177 

jour  ingentious,  confiding  eye.  Only  answer  me  one  question,  — 
Was  it  your  own  will,  or  the  will  of  another  that  governed 
your  actions  to-night  ?  ' 

" '  The  will  of  another,'  I  answered.  '  Let  that  be  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  urging  your  departure.  If  I  am  forbidden  to 
see  you  in  the  parlor,  I  shall  certainly  be  upbraided  for  speak- 
ing with  you  here.' 

"  It  was  very  imprudent  in  me  to  speak  so  freely  of  my  step- 
mother's conduct.  No  questions  of  his  should  have  drawn 
from  me  such  an  assertion.  But  I  was  so  young  and  inexpe- 
risnced,  and  I  had  been  goaded  almost  to  madness  by  her 
stinging  rebukes.  It  was  natural  that  I  should  wish  to  vindi- 
cate myself  from  the  charge  of  rudeness  her  misrepresentations 
would  bring  against  me. 

" '  I  find  you  in  sadness  and  tears,'  said  he,  in  a  low.  gentle 
tone  ;  so  low  it  scarcely  rose  above  the  murmuring  waves. 
'They  should  not  be  the  companions  of  beauty  and  youth. 
Let  me  be  your  friend,  —  let  me  teach  you  how  to  banish 
them.' 

" '  No,  no,'  I  cried,  frightened  at  my  own  boldness  in  continu- 
ing  the  conversation  so  long.  '  You  are  not  my  friend,  or  you 
would  not  expose  me  to  censure.  Indeed  you  are  not.' 

"  '  I  am  gone  ;  but  tell  me  one  thing,  —  you  are  not  a  pris- 
oner ? ' 

" '  0  no ;  heaven  forbid.' 

" '  You  walk  on  the  ramparts.' 

" '  Sometimes.' 

"'Adieu, —  we  shall  meet  again.' 

"  He  was  gone,  and  sweetly  lingered  in  my  ear  the  echo  of  his 
gently  persuasive  voice.  He  had  vanished  like  the  bark  that 
had  just  glided  along  the  waters,  and  like  that  had  left  a  wake 
of  brightness  behind. 

"I  could  not  sleep.  Excitement  kept  me  wakeful  and  restless. 
I  heard  the  measured  tread  of  the  sentinel  walking  his 
'lonely  round,'  and  it  did  not  sound  louder  than  the  beating  of 
my  own  heart.  Hark !  a  soft,  breezy  sound  steals  up  just  be- 
Death  my  window.  It  is  the  vibration  of  the  guitar,  —  a  d«ep- 


178  ERNEST      LIN  WOOD. 

toned,  melodious  voice  accompanies  it.  It  is  the  voice  of  St. 
James.  He  sings,  and  the  strains  fall  upon  the  stilly  night,  soft 
as  the  silver  dew. 

"  Gabriella,  I  told  you  with  my  dying  lips  never  to  unseal  this 
manuscript  till  you  were  awakened  to  woman's  destiny,  —  love. 
If  you  do  not  sympathize  with  my  emotions,  lay  it  down,  my 
child,  the  hour  is  not  yet  come.  If  you  have  never  heard  a 
voice,  whose  faintest  tones  sink  into  the  lowest  depths  of  your 
soul,  —  if  you  have  never  met  a  glance,  whose  lightning  rays 
penetrate  to  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  heart,  reseal  these 
pages.  The  feelings  with  which  you  cannot  sympathize  will 
seem  weakness  and  folly,  and  a  daughter  must  not  scorn  a 
mother's  bosom  record. 

"  Remember  how  lonely,  how  unfriended  I  was.  The  only  eye 
that  had  beamed  on  me  with  love  was  closed  in  death,  the  only 
living  person  on  whom  I  had  any  claims  was  cruel  and  unkind. 
Blame  me  not  that  I  listened  to  a  stranger's  accents,  that  I  re- 
ceived his  image  into  my  heart,  that  I  enthroned  it  there,  and 
paid  homage  to  the  kingly  guest. 

"  It  is  in  vain  to  linger  thus.  I  met  him  again  and  again.  I 
learned  to  measure  time  and  space  by  one  line  — where  he  was, 
and  where  he  was  not.  I  learned  to  bear  harshness,  jeering, 
and  wrong,  because  a  door  of  escape  was  opened,  and  the  roses 
of  paradise  seemed  blushing  beyond.  I  suffered  him  to  be  my 
friend  —  lover  —  husband." 

I  dropped  the  manuscript  that  I  might  clasp  my  hands  in  an 
ecstasy  of  gratitude  — 

'*  My  God,  —  I  thank  thee ! "  I  exclaimed,  sinking  on  my 
knees,  and  repeating  the  emphatic  words  :  "friend  —  lover  — • 
husband"  "  God  of  my  mother,  forgive  my  dark  misgivings." 

Now  I  could  look  up.  Now  I  could  hold  the  paper  with  a 
firm  hand.  There  was  nothing  in  store  that  I  could  not  bear  to 
hear,  no  misfortune  I  had  not  courage  to  meet.  Alas  !  alas  I 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

*  YES,"  continued  my  mother  ;  "  we  were  married  within 
heaven  dedicated  walls  by  a  man  of  God,  and  the  blessing  of 
the  holy,  blessed,  and  glorious  Trinity  was  pronounced  upon 
our  union.  Remember  this,  my  dearly  beloved  child,  remember 
that  in  the  bosom  of  the  church,  surrounded  by  all  the  solemni- 
ties of  religion,  with  the  golden  ring,  the  uttered  vow,  and  on 
bended  knee,  I  was  wedded  to  Henry  Gabriel  St.  James. 

"  My  step-mother  refused  to  be  present.  She  had  sufficient 
regard  to  the  world's  opinion  to  plead  indisposition  as  an  excuse; 
but  it  was  a  false  one.  She  never  forgave  me  for  winning  the 
love  of  the  man  whom  she  had  herself  resolved  to  charm,  and 
from  the  hour  of  our  introduction  to  the  day  of  my  marriage, 
my  life  was  clouded  by  the  gloom  of  her  ill  temper. 

"  We  immediately  departed  for  New  York,  where  St.  James 
resided,  and  our  bridal  home  was  adorned  with  all  the  elegancies 
which  classic  taste  could  select,  and  prodigal  love  lavish  upon  its 
idol.  I  was  happy  then,  beyond  the  dream  of  imagination.  St. 
James  was  the  fondest,  the  kindest,  the  tenderest  —  0  my  God ! 
must  I  add  —  the  falsest  of  human  beings  ?  I  did  not  love  him 
then  —  I  worshipped,  I  adored  him.  I  have  told  you  that  my 
childish  imagination  was  fed  by  wild,  impassioned  romances, 
and  I  had  made  to  my3clf  an  ideal  image,  round  which,  like  the 
maid  of  France,  I  hung  the  garlands  of  fancy,  and  knelt  before 
its  shrine. 

"  Whatever  has  been  my  after  fate,  I  have  known  the  felicity 

of  bving  in  all  its  length  and  breadth  and  strength.     And  he, 

too,  loved   me  passionately,   devotedly.      Strong   indeed  must 

have  been  the  love  that  triumphed  over  principle,  honor,  and 

12  (i?»> 


180  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

truth,  that  broke  the  most  sacred  of  human  ties,  and  dared  the 
vengeance  of  retributive  Heaven. 

"  St.  James  was  an  artist.  He  was  not  dependent  entirely 
on  his  genius  for  his  subsistence,  though  his  fortune  was  not 
large  enough  to  enable  him  to  live  in  splendid  indolence.  He 
had  been  in  Europe  for  the  last  few  years,  wandering  amid  the 
ruins  of  Italy,  studying  the  grand  old  masters,  summering  in 
the  valleys  of  Switzerland,  beneath  the  shadow  of  its  mountain 
heights,  and  polishing  his  bold,  masterly  sketches  among  the 
elegant  artists  of  -:  aris. 

"  With  what  rapture  I  listened  to  his  glowing  descriptions  of 
foreign  lands,  and  what  beautiful  castles  we  built  where  we 
were  to  dwell  together  in  the  golden  clime  of  Italy  or  the 
sunny  bowers  of  France  ! 

"  At  length,  my  Gabriella,  you  were  given  to  my  arms,  and 
the  deep,  pure  fountain  of  a  mother's  love  welled  in  my  youth- 
ful bosom.  But  my  life  was  wellnigh  a  sacrifice  to  yours. 
For  weeks  it  hung  trembling  on  a  thread  slender  and  weak  as 
the  gossamer's  web.  St.  James  watched  over  me,  as  none  but 
guardian  angels  could  watch,  and  I  had  another  faithful  and 
devoted  nurse,  our  good  and  matchless  Peggy.  To  her  unsleep- 
ing vigilance,  her  strong  heart  and  untiring  arm,  I  one  in  a 
great  measure  the  restoration  of  ray  health,  or  rather  the 
preservation  of  my  life;  my  health  was  never  entirely  ren- 
ovated. 

"  When  you  were  about  five  or  six  months  old,  St.  James 
came  to  me  with  a  troubled  countenance.  He  was  summoned 
away,  very  unexpectedly.  He  would  probably  be  obliged  to  go 
as  far  as  Texas  before  his  return;  he  might  be  absent  a  month. 
Business  of  a  perplexing  nature,  which  it  was  impossible  to  ex- 
plain then,  called  him  from  me,  but  he  would  shorten  as  much 
as  possible  the  days  of  absence  which  would  be  dreary  and 
joyless  to  him.  I  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  at  the  thought 
of  his  leaving  me  ;  my  nerves  were  still  weak,  and  I  wept  in 
all  the  abandonment  of  sorrow.  I  feared  for  him  the  dangers 
that  beset  the  path  of  the  traveller  —  sickness,  death ;  but  1 
feared  not  for  his  honor  or  truth.  I  relied  upon  his  integrity, 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  181 

as  I  did  upon  the  promises  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  I  did  not 
arge  him  to  explain  the  motives  of  his  departure,  satisfied  that 
they  were  just  and  honorable. 

"  Oh  !  little  did  I  think,  —  when  he  clasped  me  in  a  parting 
embrace  when  he  committed  us  both  so  tenderly  and  solemnly 
to  the  guardianship  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  —  little  did  I  think 
I  should  so  soon  seek  to  rend  him  from  my  heart  as  a  vile, 
accursed  monster ;  that  I  should  shrink  from  the  memory  of  his 
embraces  as  from  the  coils  of  the  serpent,  the  fangs  of  the  wolf. 
God  in  his  mercy  veils  the  future,  or  who  could  bear  the  bur- 
den of  coming  woe  ! 

"A  few  days  after  his  departure,  as  I  was  seated  in  the 
nursery,  watching  your  innocent  witcheries  as  you  lay  cradled 
in  the  lap  of  Peggy,  I  was  told  a  lady  wished  to  see  me.  It 
was  too  early  an  hour  for  fashionable  calls,  and  I  went  into 
the  parlor  expecting  to  meet  one  of  those  ministering  spirits, 
who  go  about  on  errands  of  mercy,  seeking  the  aid  of  the  rich 
for  the  wants  of  the  poor. 

"  A  lady  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the  door,  seemingly 
occupied  in  gazing  at  a  picture  over  the  mantel-piece,  an  ex- 
quisite painting  of  St.  James.  Her  figure  was  slight  and  grace- 
ful, and  she  struck  me  at  once  as  having  a  foreign  air.  She 
turned  round  at  my  entrance,  exhibiting  a  pale  and  agitated 
countenance ;  a  countenance  which  though  not  beautiful,  was 
painfully  interesting.  She  had  a  soft  olive  complexion,  and  a 
full  melancholy  black  eye,  surcharged  with  tears. 

"  I  motioned  her  to  a  seat,  for  I  could  not  speak.  Her  agi- 
tation was  contagious,  and  I  waited  in  silent  trepidation  to  learn 
the  mystery  of  her  emotion. 

"'  Forg've  me  this  intrusion,'  said  she,  in  hesitating  accents ; 
*  you  look  so  young,  so  innocent,  so  lovely,  my  heart  misgives 
me.  I  cannot,  I  dare  not.' 

"  She  spoke  in  French,  a  language  of  which  I  was  mistress, 
and  I  recognized  at  once  the  land  of  her  birth.  She  paused,  aa 
if  unable  to  proceed,  while  I  sat,  pale  and  cold  as  marble,  won- 
dering what  awful  revelation  she  would,  but  dared  not  make 


182  ERNEST     LINWOCD 

Had  she  come  to^tell  me  of  my  husband's  dead,  — «  was  my  first 
agonized  thought,  and  I  faintly  articulated, — 

" '  My  husband  ! ' 

" '  Tour  husband  !  Poor,  deluded  young  creature.  Alas ! 
alas  !  I  can  forgive  him  for  deserting  me,  but  not  for  deceiving 
and  destroying  you.' 

"  I  started  to  my  feet  with  a  galvanic  spring.  My  veins 
tingled  as  if  fire  were  running  through  them,  and  my  hair  rose, 
startling  with  electric  horror.  I  grasped  her  arm  with  a  force 
she  might  have  felt  through  covering  steel,  and  looking  her 
steadfastly  in  the  face,  exclaimed,  — 

" '  He  is  my  husband  ;  mine  in  the  face  of  God  and  man.  He 
is  my  husband,  and  the  father  of  my  child.  I  will  proclaim  it 
in  the  face  of  earth  and  heaven.  I  will  proclaim  it  till  my  dying 
day.  How  dare  you  come  to  me  with  slanders  so  vile,  false, 
unprincipled  woman  ? ' 

"  She  recoiled  a  few  steps  from  me,  and  held  up  her  depre- 
cating hands. 

" '  Have  pity  upon  mej  for  I  am  very  wretched,'  she  cried ; 
'were  it  not  for  my  child  I  would  die  in  silence  and  despair, 
rather  than  rouse  you  from  your  fatal  dream,  but  I  cannot  see 
him  robbed  of  his  rights.  I  cannot  see  another  usurping  the 
name  and  place  he  was  born  to  fill.  Madam,'  continued  she, 
discarding  her  supplicating  tone,  and  speaking  with  dignity  and 
force, '  I  am  no  false,  unprincipled  woman,  inventing  tales  which 
I  cannot  corroborate.  I  am  a  wife,  as  pure  in  heart,  as  upright 
in  purpose  as  you  can  be,  —  a  mother  as  tender.  Forsaken  by 
him  whom  in  spite  of  my  wrongs  I  still  too  fondly  love,  I  have 
left  my  native  land,  crossed  the  ocean's  breadth,  come  a  stran- 
ger to  a  strange  country,  that  I  might  appeal  to  you  for  redress, 
and  tell  you  that  if  you  still  persist  in  calling  him  your  own,  it 
will  be  in  defiance  of  the  Jaws  of  man  and  the  canons  of  the 
living  God.' 

"As  she  thus  went  on,  her  passions  became  roused,  and 
flashed  and  larkoned  in  her  face  with  alternations  so  quick 
tLey  mocked  the  sight  She  spoke  with  the  rapid  tongue  and 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  183 

impressive  gesticulation  of  her  country,  and  God's  truth  was 
stamped  on  every  word.  I  felt  it,  —  I  knew  it.  She  was  no 
base,  lying  impostor.  She  was  a  wronged  and  suffering  wo- 
man ;  —  and  he,  —  the  idol  of  my  soul,  —  the  friend,  lover,  hus- 
band of  my  youth,  —  no,  no !  he  could  not  be  a  villain  !  Shf 
was  mad,  —  ha,  ha,  —  she  was  mad  !  Bursting  into  a  wild 
hysteric  laugh,  I  sunk  back  on  the  sofa,  repeating, — 

" '  Poor  thing,  she  is  mad !  I  wonder  I  did  not  knew  it 
sooner.' 

" '  No,  madam,  I  am  not  mad,'  she  cried,  in  calmer  tones ;  '  I 
sometimes  wish  I  were.  I  am  in  the  full  possession  of  my 
reason,  as  I  can  abundantly  prove.  But  little  more  than  three 
years  since,  I  was  married  to  Gabriel  Henry  St.  James,  in 
Paris,  my  native  city,  and  here  is  the  certificate  which  proves 
the  truth  of  my  assertion.' 

"  Taking  a  paper  from  her  pocket-book,  she  held  it  towards 
me,  so  that  I  could  read  the  writing,  still  retaining  it  in  her  own 
hand.  I  did  not  blame  her, —  oh,  no  !  I  should  have  done  the 
same.  I  saw,  what  seemed  blazing  in  fire,  the  names  of  Henry 
Gabriel  St.  James  and  There'se  Josephine  La  Fontaine  united 
in  marriage  by  the  usual  formula  of  the  church. 

"  I  did  not  attempt  to  snatch  it  from  her,  or  to  destroy  the 
fatal  piper.  I  gazed  upon  it  till  the  characters  swelled  out  like 
black  chords,  and  writhed  in  snaky  convolutions. 

" '  Do  you  recognize  this  ?  '  she  asked,  taking  from  her  bosom 
a  gold  case,  and  touching  a  spring.  It  flew  open  and  revealed 
the  handsome  features  of  St.  James,  beaming  with  the  same  ex- 
pression as  when  I  first  beheld  him,  an  expression  I  remem- 
bered but  too  well.  She  turned  it  in  the  case,  and  I  saw  writ- 
ten on  the  back  in  gold  letters,  '  For  my  beloved  wife,  Theresa 
Josephine.' 

"  It  was  enough.  The  certificate  might  be  a  forgery,  her 
tale  a  lie ;  but  this  all  but  breathing  picture,  these  indubitable 
words,  were  proofs  of  blasting  power.  Cold,  icy  shiverings  ran 
through  my  frame,  —  a  cold,  benumbing  weight  pressed  down 
my  heart,  —  a  black  abyss  opened  before  me,  —  the  earth 
heaved  and  gave  way  beneath  me.  "With  a  shriek  that  seemed 


184  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

to  breathe  out  my  life,  I  fell  forward  at  the  feet  of  her  whom  I 
had  so  guiltlessly  wronged." 

Thus  far  had  I  read,  with  clenching  teeth  and  rigid  limbs, 
and  brow  on  which  chill,  deadly  drops  were  slowly  gathering, 
when  my  mother's  shriek  seemed  suddenly  to  ring  in  my  ears,  — 
the  knell  of  a  broken  heart,  a  ruined  frame,  —  and  I  sprang  up 
and  looked  wildly  round  me.  Where  was  I  ?  Who  was  I  ? 

Were  the  heavens  turned  to  brass  and  the  sun  to  blood,  or 
was  yon  saffron  belt  the  gold  of  declining  day,  —  yon  crimson 
globe,  the  sun  rolling  through  a  hazy,  sultry  atmosphere  ?  What 
meant  that  long  green  mound  stretching  at  my  side,  that  broken 
shaft,  twined  with  the  cypress  vine  ?  I  clasped  both  hands  over 
my  temples,  as  these  questions  drifted  through  my  mind,  then 
bending  my  knees,  I  sunk  lower  and  lower,  till  my  head  rested 
on  the  grave.  I  was  conscious  of  but  one  wish  —  to  stay  there 
and  die.  The  bolt  of  indelible  disgrace  quivered  in  my  heart  j 
why  should  I  wish  to  live  ? 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

I  DID  not  become  insensible,  but  I  was  dead  to  surrounding 
objects,  dead  to  the  present,  dead  to  the  future.  The  past,  the 
terrible,  the  inexorable  past,  was  upon  me,  trampling  me,  grind- 
ing me  with  iron  heel,  into  the  dust  of  the  grave.  I  could  not 
move,  for  its  nightmare  weight  crushed  me.  I  could  not  see, 
for  its  blackness  shrouded  me ;  nor  hear,  for  its  shrieks  deaf- 
ened me.  Had  I  remained  long  in  that  awful  condition,  I 
should  have  become  a  maniac. 

"  Gabriella !  "  said  a  voice,  which  at  any  other  moment  would 
have  wakened  a  thrill  of  rapture,  "  Gabriella,  speak,  —  look  up. 
Why  do  you  do  this  ?  Why  will  you  not  speak  ?  Do  you  not 
hear  me  ?  " 

I  did  try  to  speak,  but  my  tongue  seemed  frozen.  I  did  try 
to  lift  my  head,  but  in  vain. 

Ernest  Linwood,  for  it  was  he,  knelt  down  by  me,  and  put- 
ting his  arms  round  me,  raised  me  from  the  ground,  without 
any  volition  of  my  own.  I  know  not  what  state  I  was  in.  I 
was  perfectly  conscious ;  but  had  no  more  power  over  the 
movement  of  a  muscle  than  if  I  were  dead.  My  eyes  were  closed, 
and  my  head  drooped  on  his  breast,  as  he  raised  me,  bowed 
by  its  own  weight.  I  was  in  a  kind  of  conscious  catalepsy. 
He  was  alarmed,  terrified.  As  he  afterwards  told  me,  he  really 
believed  me  dead,  and  clasping  me  to  him  with  an  energy  of 
which  he  was  not  aware,  adjured  me  in  the  most  tender  and 
passionate  manner  to  speak  and  tell  him  that  I  lived. 

"  Gabriella,  my  flower-girl,  my  darling  !  "  he  cried,  pressing 
my  cheek  with  those  pure,  despaii'ing  kisses  with  which  love 
hallows  death.  Had  I  indeed  passed  the  boundaries  of  life,  for 

QS5) 


186  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

my  spirit  alone  was  conscious  of  caresses,  whose  remembrance 
thrilled  through  my  being. 

The  reaction  was  instantaneous.  The  chilled  blood  grew 
warm  and  rushed  through  every  vein  with  wild  rapidity. 
Then  I  became  physically  conscious,  and  glowing  with  con- 
fusion I  raised  myself  from  my  reclining  position,  and 
attempted  to  look  up  into  the  face  of  Ernest.  But  I  could 
not  do  it.  Contending  emotions  deprived  me  of  the  power  of 
self-command. 

"  This  is  madness,  Gabriella  !  This  is  suicide  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
lifting  me  from  the  grave,  and  still  supporting  me  with  his  arm. 
"  Why  do  you  come  here  to  nurse  a  grief  so  far  beyond  the 
limits  of  reason  and  religion  ?  Why  do  you  give  your  friends 
such  exquisite  pain,  yourself  such  unnecessary  misery  ?  " 

u  Do  not  reproach  me,"  I  cried.  "  You  know  not  what  cause 
I  have  for  anguish  and  despair." 

"  Despair,  Gabriella  !  You  cannot  know  the  meaning  of  that 
word.  Despair  belongs  to  guilt,  and  even  that  is  not  hopeless. 
And  why  do  you  come  to  this  lone  place  of  graves  to  weep,  as 
if  human  sympathy  were  denied  to  your  sorrows  ?  Is  not  my 
mother  kind,  —  is  not  Edith  tender  and  affectionate  ?  Am  not 
I  worthy  to  be  trusted,  as  a  friend,  —  a  protector,  —  a  redresser ; 
and  if  need  be,  an  avenger  of  wrongs  ?  " 

"  My  own  wrongs  I  might  reveal ;  but  those  of  the  dead  arc 
sacred,"  I  answered,  stooping  down  and  gathering  up  the  manu- 
script, which  was  half  concealed  in  the  long,  damp  grass. 
"  But  do  not  think  me  ungrateful.  What  I  owe  to  your  mother 
and  Edith  words  can  never  tell.  In  every  prayer  I  breathe  to 
heaven  I  shall  call  down  blessings  on  their  head.  And  you 
too,  —  you  have  been  more  than  kind.  I  never  can  forget  it." 

"  If  it  be  not  too  presumptuous,  I  will  unite  your  name  with 
theirs,  and  pray  that  God  may  bless  you,  now  and  ever  more." 

"  This  will  never  do,"  said  he,  drawing  me  forcibly  from  the 
mournful  place.  "  You  must  confide  in  my  mother,  Gabriella. 
A  dark  secret  is  a  plague  spot  in  the  heart.  Confide  in  my 
mother.  It  is  due  to  her  maternal  love  and  guardianship 
And  beware  of  believing  tlrnt  any  thing  independent  of  yourself 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  187 

can  alienate  her  affections.  Can  you  walk?  If  it  were  not 
for  leaving  you  alone,  I  would  go  and  return  with  the  carriage." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  am  quite  well  and  strong  again." 

"  Then  lean  on  me,  Gabriella.  Shrink  not  from  an  arm 
which  would  gladly  protect  you  from  every  danger  and  every 
wrong.  Let  us  hasten,  lest  I  utter  words  which  I  would  not 
for  worlds  associate  with  a  scene  so  cold  and  sad.  Not  where 
the  shadow  of  death  falls  —  no  —  not  here." 

He  hurried  me  through  the  gate,  and  then  paused. 

"  Rest  here  a  moment,"  said  he,  "  and  recover  your  com- 
posure. We  may  meet  with  those  who  would  wonder  to  see 
you  thus,  with  your  hair  wildly  flowing,  your  scarf  loose  and 
disordered." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  exclaimed,  my  thoughts  coming  to  the  sur- 
face, and  resting  there  with  shame.  I  had  forgotten  that  my 
bonnet  was  in  my  hand,  that  my  comb  had  fallen,  leaving  my 
hair  loose  and  dishevelled.  Gathering  up  its  length,  and  twist- 
ing it  in  thick  folds  around  my  head,  I  confined  it  with  my  bon- 
net, and  smoothing  my  thin  scarf,  I  took  his  arm  in  silence,  and 
walked  on  through  the  purple  gloom  of  twilight  that  deepened 
before  us.  Slight  shivers  ran  through  my  frame.  The  damp- 
ness of  the  grave-yard  clung  to  me,  and  the  night  dews  were 
beginning  to  fall. 

"  Are  you  cold,  Gabriella  ?  "  he  asked,  folding  my  light  man- 
tle more  closely  round  me.  "  You  are  not  sufficiently  protected 
from  the  dewy  air.  You  are  weary  and  chill.  You  do  not 
lean  on  me.  You  do  not  confide  in  me." 

"  In  whom  should  I  confide,  then  ?  Without  father,  brother, 
or  protector,  in  whom  should  I  confide,  if  ungrateful  and  un- 
trusting  I  turn  from  you  ?  " 

As  I  said  this,  I  suffered  my  arm  to  rest  more  firmly  on  his, 
for  my  steps  were  indeed  weary,  and  we  were  now  ascending 
the  hill.  My  heart  was  deeply  touched  by  his  kindness,  and 
the  involuntary  ejaculations  he  uttered,  the  involuntary  caresses 
he  bestowed,  when  he  believed  me  perfectly  unconscious,  were 
treasured  sacredly  there.  We  were  now  by  the  large  ehn-treo 
Uiat  shaded  the  way-side,  beneath  whose  boughs  I  had  so  often 


188  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

paused  to  gaze  on  the  valley  below.  Without  speaking,  he  led 
me  to  this  resting-place,  and  we  both  looked  back,  as  wayfar- 
er? are  wont  to  do  when  they  stop  in  an  ascending  path. 

Calmly  the  shadows  rested  on  the  landscape,  softly  yet 
dsfkly  they  rolled  down  the  slope  of  the  neighboring  hills  and 
th*  distant  mountains.  In  thin  curlings,  the  gray  smoke  floated 
upwards  and  lay  slumberously  among  the  fleecy  clouds.  Here 
and  there  a  mansion,  lifted  above  the  rest,  shed  from  its  glow- 
ing windows  the  reflection  of  departing  day.  Bright  on  the 
dLsky  gold  of  the  west  the  evening-star  shone  and  throbbed, 
like  a  pure  love-thought  in  the  heart  of  night ;  and,  dimly  glim- 
m«-ring  above  the  horizon,  the  giant  pen  seemed  writing  the  Ment 
T>  fcel  of  my  clouded  destiny  on  the  palace  walls  of  heaven. 

4.S  we  thus  stood,  lifted  above  the  valley,  involved  in  shadows, 
sil  -nt  and  alone,  I  could  hear  the  beating  of  my  heart,  louder 
a^'(  louder  in  the  breathing  stillness. 

"  Gabriella  ! "  said  Ernest,  in  a  low  voice,  and  that  master- 
fhwd  which  no  hand  but  his  had  touched,  thrilled  at  the  sound. 
<:  If  the  spot  on  which  we  stand  were  a  desert  island,  and  the 
valley  stretching  around  us  the  wide  waste  of  ocean,  and  we 
the  only  beings  in  the  solitude  of  nature,  with  your  hand  thus 
clapped  in  mine,  arid  my  heart  thus  throbbing  near,  with  a  love 
so  strong,  so  deep,  it  would  be  to  you  in  place  of  the  whole 
wo:  *ld  beside,  —  tell  me,  could  you  be  happy  ?  " 

"  I  could,"  was  the  low,  irresistible  answer  ;  and  my  soul,  like 
an  illuminated  temple,  flashed  with  inward  light.  I  covered 
my  eyes  to  keep  in  the  dazzling  rays.  I  forgot  the  sad  history 
of  wrongs  and  disgrace  which  I  had  just  been  perusing;  —  I 
forgot  that  such  words  had  breathed  into  my  mother's  ear,  and 
that  she  believed  them.  I  only  remembered  that  Ernest  Lin 
wood  loved  me,  and  that  love  surrounded  me  with  a  luminous 
atmosphere,  in  which  joy  and  hope  fluttered  their  heavenly 
wings. 

How  slight  a  thing  will  change  the  current  of  thought !  I 
taught  a  glimpse  of  the  granite  walls  of  Grandison  Place,  and 
darkened  by  the  shades,  they  seemed  to  frown  upon  me  with 
their  high  turret  and  lofty  colonnade,  so  ancestral  and  imposing. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  189 

Then  I  remembered  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith,  —  then  I  re- 
membered my  mother,  my  father^  and  all  the  light  went  out  in 
my  heart. 

"  I  had  forgotten,  —  oh,  how  much  I  had  forgotten,"  I  cried, 
endeavoring  to  release  myself  from  the  arm  that  only  tightened 
its  hold.  "Your  mother  never  would  forgive  my  presumption 
if  she  thought,  —  if  she  knew." 

"  My  mother  loves  you  ;  but  even  if  she  did  not,  I  am  free  to 
act,  free  to  choose,  as  every  man  should  be.  I  love  and  revere 
my  mother,  but  there  is  a  passion  stronger  than  filial  love  and 
reverence,  which  goes  on  conquering  and  to  conquer.  She  will 
not,  she  cannot  oppose  me." 

"  But  Edith,  dear  Edith,  who  loves  you  so  devotedly  !  She 
will  hate  me  if  I  dare  to  supplant  her." 

"  A  sister  never  can  be  supplanted,  —  and  least  of  all  such  a 
sister  as  Edith,  Gabriella.  If  you  do  not  feel  that  love  so  ex- 
pands, so  enlarges  the  heart,  that  it  makes  room  for  all  the 
angels  in  heaven,  you  could  not  share  my  island  home." 

"  If  you  knew  all,  —  if  I  could  tell  you  all,"  I  cried,  —  and 
again  I  felt  the  barbed  anguish  that  prostrated  me  at  the 
grave,  —  "  and  you  shall  know,  —  your  generous  love  demands 
this  confidence.  When  your  mother  has  read  the  history  of 
my  parentage,  I  will  place  it  in  your  hands  ;  though  my  mother's 
character  is  as  exalted  and  spotless  as  your  own,  there  is  a  cloud 
over  my  name  that  will  for  ever  rest  upon  it.  Knowing  that, 
you  cannot,  you  will  not  wish  to  unite  your  noble,  brilliant  des- 
tiny with  mine.  This  hour  will  be  remembered  as  a  dream,  a 
bright,  but  fleeting  dream." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  the  past  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  detaining  me  as 
I  endeavored  to  move  on.  "  Talk  not  of  a  clouded  name.  Will 
not  mine  absorb  it?  What  shaft  of  malice  can  pierce  you, 
with  my  arm  as  a  defence,  and  my  bosom  as  a  shield?  Gabri- 
ella, it  is  you  that  I  love,  not  the  dead  and  buried  past.  You 
are  the  representative  of  all  present  joy  and  hope.  I  ask  for  noth- 
ing but  your  love,  —  your  exclusive,  boundless  love,  —  a  love 
that  will  be  ready  to  sacrifice  every  thing  but  innocence  and 
integrity  for  me,  —  that  will  cling  to  me  in  woe  as  in  weal,  in 


190  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

Bhanie  as  in  honor,  in  death  as  in  life.  Such  is  the  love  I  give, 
and  such  I  ask  in  return.  Is  it  mine  ?  Tell  me  not  of  oppos- 
ing barriers  ;  only  tell  me  what  your  heart  this  moment  dictates; 
forgetful  of  the  past,  regardless  of  the  future?  Is  this  love 
mine?" 

"It  is,"  I  answered,  looking  up  through  fast-falling  tears. 
"  Why  will  you  wring  this  confession  from  me,  when  you  only 
know  it  too  well  ?  " 

"  One  question  more,  Gabriella,  for  your  truth-telling  lips  to 
answer.  Is  this  love  only  given  in  return  ?  Did  it  not  spring 
spontaneously  forth  from  the  warmth  and  purity  of  your  own 
heart,  without  waiting  the  avowal  of  mine  ?  Gratitude  is  not 
love.  It  is  stone,  not  bread,  to  a  spirit  as  exacting  as  mine." 

Again  the  truth  was  forced  from  me  by  his  unconquerable 
will,  —  a  will  that  opened  the  secret  valves  of  thought,  and  rolled 
away  the  rock  from  the  fountain  of  feeling.  Even  then  I  felt 
the  despotism  as  well  as  the  strength  of  his  love. 

I  cannot,  I  dare  not,  repeat  all  that  he  uttered.  It  would  be 
deemed  too  extravagant,  too  high-wrought.  And  so  it  was. 
Let  woman  tremble  rather  than  exult,  when  she  is  the  object  of 
a  passion  so  intense.  The  devotion  of  her  whole  being  cannot 
satisfy  its  inordinate  demands.  Though  the  flame  of  the  sacri- 
fice ascend  to  heaven,  it  still  cries,  "  Bring  gifts  to  the  altar,  — 
bring  the  wine  of  the  banquet,  —  the  incense  of  the  temple,  — 
the  fuel  of  the  hearth-stone.  Bring  all,  and  still  I  crave. 
Give  all,  I  ask  for  more." 

Not  then  was  this  warning  suggested.  To  be  wildly,  pas- 
sionately loved,  was  my  heart's  secret  prayer.  Life  itself  would 
be  a  willing  sacrifice  to  this  devotion.  Suspicion  that  stood 
sentinel  at  the  door  of  Faith,  Distrust  that  threw  its  shadow 
over  the  sunshine  of  truth,  and  Jealousy,  doubting,  yet  adoring 
still,  would  be  welcomed  as  household  guests,  if  the  attendants 
of  this  impassioned  love.  Such  was  the  dream  of  my  girl- 
hood. 

When  we  entered  the  lawn,  lights  began  to  glimmer  in  the 
house.  1  trembled  at  the  idea  of  meeting  Mrs.  Linwood,  or 
the  Amazonian  Meg.  There  was  a  side  door  through  which  I 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  191 

might  pass  unobserved,  and  by  this  ingress  I  sought  my  cham- 
ber and  locked  the  door.  A  lamp  was  burning  on  the  table. 
Had  I  lingered  abroad  so  late  ?  Had  the  absence  of  Ernest 
been  observed  ? 

I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  threw  off  my  bonnet  and 
scarf,  shook  my  hair  over  my  shoulders,  and  pushed  it  back 
with  both  hands  from  my  throbbing  temples.  I  wanted  room. 
Such  crowding  thoughts,  such  overflowing  emotions,  could  not 
be  compressed  in  those  four  walls.  I  rose  and  walked  the 
room  back  and  forth,  without  fear  of  being  overheard,  on  the 
soft  carpet  of  velvet  roses.  What  revelations  had  been  made 
known  to  me  since  I  had  quitted  that  room !  How  low  I  had 
been  degraded,  —  how  royally  exalted!  A  child  unentitled  to 
her  father's  name!  —  a  maiden,  endowed  with  a  princely  heart! 
I  walked  as  one  in  a  dream,  doubting  my  own  identity.  But 
one  master  thought  governed  every  other. 

"  He  loves  me  !  "  I  repeated  to  myself.  "  Ernest  Linwood 
loves  me  !  Whatever  be  the  future,  that  present  bliss  is  mine. 
I  have  tasted  woman's  highest,  holiest  joy,  — the  joy  of  loving 
and  being  beloved.  Sorrow  and  trial  may  be  mine  ;  but  this 
remembrance  will  remain,  a  blessed  light  through  the  darkness 
of  time,  — '  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean.'  " 

As  I  passed  and  repassed  the  double  mirror,  my  reflected 
figure  seemed  an  apparition  gliding  by  my  side.  I  paused  and 
stood  before  one  of  them,  and  I  thought  of  the  time  when,  first 
awakened  to  the  consciousness  of  personal  influence,  I  gazed  on 
my  own  image.  Some  writer  has  said,  "  that  every  woman  is 
beautiful  when  she  loves."  There  certainly  is  a  light,  coming 
up  from  the  enkindled  heart,  bright  as  the  solar  ray,  yet  pure 
and  soft  as  moonlight,  which  throws  an  illusion  over  the  plain- 
est features  and  makes  them  for  the  moment  charming.  I  saw 
the  flower-girl  of  the  library  in  the  mirror,  and  then  I  knew 
that  the  artist  had  intended  her  as  the  idealization  of  Love's 
image. 

And  then  I  remembered  the  morning  when  we  sat  together 
in  the  library,  and  he  took  the  roses  from  my  basket  and  scat- 
tered the  leaves  at  my  feet. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

A  TnrNDERiNG  rap  at  the  door  startled  my  meditations.  I 
knew  there  was  but  one  pair  of  knuckles  in  the  house  capable 
of  beating  such  a  tattoo,  and  I  recoiled  from  admitting  such  a 
boisterous  guest. 

"  Gabriella,  Gabriella  !  "  rung  a  voice  through  the  passage. 
"  Are  you  asleep  ?  Are  you  dead  ?  Open  the  door,  pray,  or 
I  shall  kill  myself  squeezing  in  through  the  key-hole." 

With  a  deep  sigh  of  vexation,  I  opened  the  door,  and  she 
sprang  in  with  the  momentum  of  a  ball  hurled  by  a  bat. 

"  My  dear  creature  !  "  she  exclaimed,  catching  me  round  the 
waist  and  turning  me  to  the  light,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  ? 
where  have  you  been  staying  ?  Ill !  —  tired  !  —  it  is  all  a  sham. 
He  need  not  try  to  impose  on  me  such  a  story  as  that.  I  never 
saw  you  look  so  brilliantly  well.  Your  cheeks  and  lips  are 
red  like  the  damask  rose,  and  your  eyes,  —  I  never  saw  such 
eyes  before.  Come  here  and  look  in  the  glass.  Ill !  —  ha,  ha !  " 

"  I  have  been  ill,"  I  answered,  shrinking  from  her  reckless 
hand,  "  and  I  was  very  tired ;  I  feel  better  now." 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  you  did.  You  rested  long  enough  by 
the  way,  Heaven  knows  ;  we  saw  you  climbing  the  hill  at 
eunset,  and  the  lamps  were  lighted  before  you  caine  in.  I  was 
going  after  you,  but  Mrs.  Linwood  would  not  let  me.  Ah  ! 
you  have  animated  the  statue,  thou  modern  Pygmaliona.  You 
have  turned  back  into  flesh  this  enchanted  man  of  stone.  Tell 
it  in  Gath,  publish  it  in  Askelon  ;  but  the  daughters  of  fashion 
will  mourn,  the  tribes  of  the  neglected  will  envy." 

M  I  cannot  match  you  in  brilliant  speeches,  Miss  Melville." 

"  Call  me  Miss  Melville  again,  if  you  dare.     Call  me  Madge, 

(182) 


ERNEST     L1NWOOD.  193 

or  Meg;  but  as  sure  as  you  mount  the  stilts  of  ceremony,  I  will 
whisk  you  off  at  the  risk  of  breaking  your  neck.  Hark  !  thera 
is  the  supper  bell.  Come,  just  as  you  are.  You  never  looked 
so  charming.  That  wild  flow  of  the  hair  is  perfectly  bewitch- 
ing. I  do  n't  wonder  Mr.  Invincible  has  grounded  his  weapons, 
not  I.  If  I  were  a  young  man, —  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  I  sometimes  fear  you  are,"  I  cried.  At  this  remark  she  burst 
into  such  a  wild  fit  of  laughter,  I  thought  she  never  would 
cease.  It  drowned  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  still  kept  gush- 
ing over  afresh. 

"  Ask  Mrs.  Linwood  to  excuse  me  from  supper,"  said  I ;  "  I 
do  not  wish  any,  indeed  I  do  not." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  one  of  the  air  plants  ;  I  must  have  something 
more  substantial  than  sentiment,  or  I  should  pine  with  green 
and  yellow  hunger,  not  melancholy.  I  never  cried  but  once, 
that  I  recollect,  and  that  was  when  a  favorite  black  cat  of  mine 
was  killed,  —  maliciously,  villanously  killed,  by  an  old  maid, 
just  because  she  devoured  her  favorite  Canary.  No,  with  the 
daughter  of  Jephthah,  I  exclaimed,  — 

'  Lot  my  memory  still  be  thy  pride, 
And  forget  not  I  smiled  as  I  died.' 

Shutting,  or  rather  slamming  the  door,  she  bounded  down  the 
stairs  with  the  steps  of  the  chamois. 

I  had  not  finished  my  mother's  history,  but  I  had  passed  the 
breakers.  There  could  be  nothing  beyond  so  fearful  and  wreck- 
ing. The  remainder  was  brief,  and  written  at  times  with  a 
weak  and  failing  hand. 

"  How  long  I  remained  in  that  deadly  swoon,"  continued  the 
manuscript,  "  I  know  not.     When  I  recovered,  I  was  lying  on 
my  bed,  with  Peggy  standing  on  one  side  and  a  physician  on 
the  other.     As  soon  as  I  looked  up,  Peggy  burst  into  tears. 
" '  Thank  God  ! '  she  sobbed,  '  I  thought  she  was  dead.' 
" '  Hush  ! '  said  the  doctor  ;  '  let  her  be  kept  perfectly  quiet. 
Give  her  this  composing  draught,  and  let  no  one  be  admitted  lo 
tier  chamber,  —  not  even  her  c)  ild.' 


194  ERNEST    LINTVOOD 

"  Child !  it  all  came  back  to  me.  Where  was  she,  that  dread- 
ful woman?  Starting  up  in  bed,  I  looked  wildly  round  the 
room  for  the  haunting  phantom,  —  she  was  not  a  reality,  —  I 
must  have  had  a  terrible  dream. 

" '  Yes  ! '  said  the  doctor,  answering  the  expression  of  my 
countenance,  'you  have  had  a  shocking  nightmare.  Drink 
this,  and  you  will  awake  refreshed.' 

"  Yielding  passively,  I  drank  the  colorless  fluid  he  offered  me, 
and  sinking  back  on  my  pillow  passed  into  a  deep  and  tranquil 
sleep.  When  I  awoke,  the  silence  and  darkness  of  night 
brooded  around  me.  My  mind  now  was  clear  as  crystal,  and 
every  image  appeared  with  startling  distinctness.  I  lay  still 
and  calm,  revolving  what  course  to  pursue ;  and  as  I  lay  and 
revolved,  doubts  of  the  truth  of  her  story  grew  stronger  and 
stronger.  All  my  husband's  love  and  tenderness  rose  in  re- 
membrance, vindicating  his  aspersed  honor.  She  had  forged 
the  tale,  —  she  had  stolen  the  picture,  —  she  was  an  impostor 
and  a  wretch. 

"At  morning  light,  I  awakened  Peggy,  and  demanded  of  her 
what  had  occurred  during  my  insensible  state,  and  what  had  be- 
come of  the  strange  woman.  Peggy  said  that  the  piercing 
shrieks  of  the  stranger  brought  her  to  the  parlor,  where  I  lay 
like  a  corpse  on  the  carpet,  and  she  kneeling  over  me,  ringing 
her  hands,  and  uttering  unintelligible  words. 

" '  You  have  killed  her,'  cried  Peggy,  pushing  back  the 
Btranger,  and  taking  me  in  her  strong  arms. 

UiJe  le  sais,  mon  Dieu,  je  le  sais,'  exclaimed  she,  lifting 
her  clasped  hands  to  heaven.  Peggy  did  not  understand 
French,  but  she  repeated  the  words  awkwardly  enough,  yet  I 
could  interpret  them. 

"  As  they  found  it  impossible  to  recall  me  to  life,  a  physician 
was  summoned,  and  as  soon  as  he  came  the  stranger  disap- 
peared. 

"'Don't  think  of.  her  anymore,'  said  Peggy;  'do  n't,  Mrs 
St.  James,  —  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  her  story,  —  she's 
crazy,  —  she 's  a  lunatic,  you  may  be  sure  she  is,  —  she  looked 
ttark  mad.' 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  195 

ft  I  tried  to  believe  this  assertion,  but  something  told  me  she 
was  no  maniac.  I  tried  to  believe  her  an  impostor,  —  I  as- 
serted she.  was,  —  but  if  so,  she  transcended  all  the  actresses  in 
the  world.  I  could  not  eat,  I  could  not  bear  you,  my  darling 
Gabriella,  to  be  brought  into  my  presence.  Your  innocent 
smiles  were  daggers  to  my  heart. 

"  But  she  came  again,  Theresa,  the  avenger,  —  she  came  fol- 
lowed by  a  woman,  leading  by  the  hand  a  beautiful  boy. 

"  Here  was  proof  that  needed  no  confirmation.  Every  in- 
fantine feature  bore  the  similitude  of  St.  James.  The  eyes,  the 
smile,  his  miniature  self  was  there.  I  no  longer  doubted,  —  no 
longer  hesitated. 

" '  Leave  me,'  I  cried,  and  despair  lent  me  calmness.  '  I 
resign  all  claims  to  the  name,  the  fortune,  and  the  affections  of 
him  who  has  so  cruelly  wronged  us.  Not  for  worlds  would  I 
remain  even  one  day  longer  in  the  home  he  has  desecrated  by 
his  crimes.  Respect  my  sorrows,  and  leave  me.  You  may 
return  to-morrow.' 

"  '  Oh,  juste  del !  '  she  exclaimed.    '  Je  sun>  ires  malheureuse.' 

"  Snatching  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  raising  it  as  high  as 
her  strength  could  lift  it,  she  called  upon  God  to  witness  that  it 
was  only  for  his  sake  she  had  asserted  her  legal  rights ;  that, 
having  lost  the  heart  of  her  husband,  all  she  wished  was  to  die. 
Then,  sinking  on  her  knees  before  me,  she  entreated  me  to 
forgive  her  the  wretchedness  she  had  caused. 

"'  /forgive  you?'  I  cried.  'Alas!  it  is  I  should  supplicate 
your  forgiveness.  I  do  ask  it  in  the  humility  of  a  broken 
heart.  But  go  —  go  —  if  you  would  not  see  me  die.' 

"  Terrified  at  my  ghastly  countenance,  Peggy  commanded 
the  nurse  to  take  the  child  from  the  room.  Theresa  followed 
with  lingering  steps,  casting  back  upon  me  a  glance  of  pity 
and  remorse.  I  never  saw  her  again. 

" '  And  now,  Peggy,'  said  I,  '  you  are  the  only  friend  I  havo 
in  the  wide  world.  Yet  I  must  leave  you.  With  my  child 
in  my  arms,  I  am  going  forth,  like  Hagar,  into  the  wilderness 
of  life.  I  have  money  enough  to  save  me  from  immediate 
want.  Heaven  will  guard  the  future.' 
13 


19fl  EENE8T    LIN  WOOD. 

"  *  And  where  will  you  go  ? '  asked  Peggy,  passing  the  back 
of  her  hand  over  her  eyes. 

" '  Alas,  I  know  not.  I  have  no  one  to  counsel  me,  no  one  to 
whom  I  can  turn  for  assistance  or  go  for  shelter.  Even  my 
Heavenly  Father  hideth  his  face  from  me.' 

« <  Oh,  Mrs.  St.  James ! ' 

" '  Call  me  not  by  that  accursed  name.  Call  me  Rosalie. 
It  was  a  dying  mother's  gift,  and  they  cannot  rob  me  of  that.' 

" '  Miss  Rosalie,  I  will  never  quit  you.  There  is  nobody  in 
the  world  I  love  half  as  well,  and  if  you  will  let  me  stay  with 
you,  I  will  wait  on  you,  and  take  care  of  the  baby  all  the  days 
of  my  life.' 

"  Then  she  told  me  how  she  came  from  New  England  to  live 
with  a  brother,  who  had  since  died  of  consumption,  and  how 
she  was  going  back,  because  she  did  not  like  to  live  in  a  great 
city,  when  the  doctor  got  her  to  come  to  nurse  me  in  sickness, 
and  how  she  had  learned  to  love  me  so  well  she  could  not  bear 
the  thoughts  of  going  away  from  me.  She  told  me,  too,  how 
quiet  and  happy  people  could  live  in  that  part  of  the  country ; 
how  they  could  get  along  upon  almost  nothing  at  all,  and  be 
just  as  private  as  they  pleased,  and  nobody  would  pester  them 
or  make  them  afraid. 

"  She  knew  exactly  how  she  came  to  the  city,  and  we  could 
go  the  same  way,  only  we  would  wind  about  a  little  and  not  go 
to  the  place  where  she  used  to  live,  so  that  folks  need  ask  no 
questions  or  know  any  thing  about  us. 

"  With  a  childlike  dependence,  as  implicit  as  your  own,  and 
as  instinctive,  I  threw  myself  on  Peggy's  strong  heart  and 
great  common  sense.  With  equal  judgment  and  energy,  she 
arranged  every  thing  for  our  departure.  She  had  the  resolu- 
tion and  fortitude  of  a  man,  with  the  tenderness  and  fidelity  of 
a  woman.  I  submitted  myself  entirely  to  her  guidance,  saying, 
'  It  was  well.'  But  when  I  was  alone,  I  clasped  you  in  agony 
to  my  bosom,  and  prostrating  myself  before  the  footstool  of 
Jehovah,  I  prayed  for  a  bolt  to  strike  us,  mother  and  child 
together,  that  we  might  be  spared  the  bitter  cup  of  humiliation 
and  woe.  One  moment  I  dared  to  think  of  mingling  our  life 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD  197 

blood  together  in  the  grave  of  the  suicide;  the  next,  with 
streaming  eyes,  I  implored  forgiveness  for  the  impious  thought. 

"It  is  needless  to  dwell  minutely  on  the  circumstances  of  our 
departure.  "We  left  that  beautiful  mansion,  once  the  abode  of 
Icve  and  happiness,  now  a  dungeon  house  of  despair ;  —  we 
came  to  this  lone,  obscure  spot,  where  I  resumed  my  father's 
name,  and  gave  it  to  you.  At  first,  curiosity  sought  out  the 
melancholy  stranger,  but  Peggy's  incommunicativeness  and 
sound  judgment  baffled  its  scrutiny.  In  a  little  while,  we  were 
suffered  to  remain  in  the  seclusion  we  desired.  Here  you  have 
passed  from  infancy  to  childhood,  from  childhood  to  adolescence, 
unconscious  that  a  cloud  deeper  than  poverty  and  obscurity 
rests  upon  your  youth.  I  could  not  bear  that  my  innocent  child 
should  blush  for  a  father's  villany.  I  could  not  bear  that  her 
holy  confidence  in  human  goodness  and  truth  should  be  shat- 
tered and  destroyed.  But  the  day  of  revelation  must  come. 
From  the  grave,  whither  I  am  hastening,  my  voice  shall  speak ; 
for  the  time  may  come,  when  a  knowledge  of  your  parentage 
will  be  indispensable,  and  concealment  be  considered  a  crime. 

"  Should  you  hereafter  win  the  love  of  an  honorable  and  no- 
ble heart,  (for  such  are  sometimes  found,)  every  honorable  and 
noble  feeling  will  prompt  you  to  candor  and  truth,  with  regard 
to  your  personal  relations.  I  need  not  tell  you  this. 

"  And  now,  my  darling  child,  I  leave  you  one  solemn  dying 
charge.  Should  it  ever  be  your  lot  to  meet  that  guilty,  erring 
father,  whose  care  you  have  never  known,  whose  name  you 
have  never  borne,  let  no  vindictive  memories  rise  against  him. 

"  Tell  him,  I  forgave  him,  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  by  my 
Heavenly  Father,  for  all  my  sins  and  transgressions,  and  my 
idolatrous  love  of  him.  Tell  him,  that  now,  as  life  is  ebbing 
slowly  away  like  the  sands  of  the  hour-glass,  and  I  can  calmly 
look  back  upon  the  past,  I  bless  him  for  being  the  means  of 
leading  my  wandering  footsteps  to  the  green  fields  and  still 
pastures  of  the  great  Shepherd  of  Israel.  Had  he  never  pre- 
pared for  me  the  bitter  cup  of  sorrow,  I  had  not  perchance 
tasted  the  purple  juice  which  my  Saviour  trod  the  wine-press 
of  God's  wrath  to  obtain.  Had  not  '  lover  and  fri«nd  been 


198  ERNEST    LIN  "WOOD. 

taken  from  me,'  I  might  not  have  turned  to  the  Friend  of  sin- 
ners; the  Divine  Love  of  mankind.  Tell  him  then,  oh  Gabri- 
ella !  that  I  not  only  forgave,  but  blessed  him  with  the  heart  of  a 
woman  and  the  spirit  of  a  Christian. 

"  I  had  a  dream,  a  strange,  wild  dream  last  night,  which  I  am 
constrained  to  relate.  I  am  not  superstitious,  but  its  echo  lin- 
gers in  my  soul. 

"  I  dreamed  that  your  father  was  exposed  to  some  mysterious 
danger,  that  you  alone  could  avert.  That  I  saw  him  plunging 
down  into  an  awful  abyss,  lower  and  lower  ;  and  that  he  called 
on  you,  Gabriella,  to  save  him,  in  a  voice  that  might  have  rent 
the  heavens  ;  and  then  they  seemed  to  open,  and  you  ap- 
peared distant  as  a  star,  yet  distinct  and  fair  as  an  angel,  slowly 
descending  right  over  the  yawning  chasm.  You  stretched  out 
your  arms  towards  him,  and  drew  him  upward  as  if  by  an  in- 
visible chain.  As  he  rose,  the  dark  abyss  was  transformed  to 
beds  of  roses,  whose  fragrance  was  so  intensely  sweet  it  waked 
me.  It  was  but  a  dream,  my  Gabriella,  but  it  may  be  that 
God  destined  you  to  fulfil  a  glorious  mission :  to  lead  your 
erring  father  back  to  the  God  he  has  forsaken.  It  may  be,  that 
through  you,  an  innocent  and  injured  child,  the  heart  sundered 
on  earth  may  be  reunited  in  heaven. 

"  One  more  charge,  my  best  beloved.  In  whatever  situation 
of  life  you  may  be  placed,  remember  our  boundless  obligations 
to  the  faithful  Peggy,  and  never,  never,  be  separated  from  her. 
Repay  to  her  as  far  as  possible  the  long,  long  debt  of  love  and 
•devotion  due  from  us  both.  She  has  literally  forsaken  all  to 
follow  me  and  mine ;  and  if  there  is  a  crown  laid  up  in  heaven 
for  the  true,  self-sacrificing  heart,  that  crown  will  one  day  be 
\iers. 

"  The  pen  falls  from  my  hand.  Farewell  trembles  on  my 
lips.  Oh!  at  this  moment  I  feel  the  triumph  of  faith,  the 
glory  of  religion. 

"  '  Other  refuge  have  I  none; 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  theef 
Leave,  oh,  leave  me  not  alone, 
Still  support  and  comfort  m** ' 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  199 

K  Not  me  alone,  0  compassionate  and  blessed  Saviour !  but 
the  dear,  the  precious,  the  only  one  I  leave  behind.  To  thine 
exceeding  love,  to  the  care  of  a  mighty  God,  the  blessed  influ- 
ences of  the  Holy  Spirit,  I  now  commit  her.  '  Whom  have  I 
in  heaven  but  tliee,  and  there  is  naught  on  earth  which  I  da 
sire  beside  thee-' " 


CHAPTER    XXVli. 

EDITH  came  in,  as  usual,  before  she  retired  for  the  night,  and 
expressed  affectionate  concern  for  my  indisposition ;  but  there 
was  an  air  of  constraint,  which  I  could  not  help  perceiving. 
My  eyes  fell  before  hers,  with  conscious  guilt.  For  had  I  not 
robbed  her  of  that  first  place  in  her  brother's  heart,  which  she 
had  so  long  claimed  as  her  inalienable  right  ? 

I  had  one  duty  to  perform,  and  I  resolved  to  do  it  before  I 
laid  my  head  on  the  pillow.  With  the  manuscript  in  my  hand, 
I  sought  the  chamber  of  Mrs.  Limvood.  She  sat  before  a 
small  table,  her  head  resting  thoughtfully  on  her  hand,  with  an 
open  Bible  before  her.  She  looked  up  at  my  entrance,  with  a 
countenance  of  gentle  seriousness,  and  extended  her  hand  affec- 
tionately. 

Walking  hastily  towards  her,  I  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  laying 
the  manuscript  in  her  lap,  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Linwood,"  I  cried,  "  will  your  love  and  kindness 
survive  the  knowledge  of  all  these  pages  will  reveal  ?  Will  a 
mother's  virtues  cancel  the  record  of  a  father's  guilt  ?  Can 
you  cherish  and  protect  me  still  ?  " 

She  bent  over  me  and  took  me  in  her  arms,  while  tears  trem- 
bled in  her  eyes. 

"  I  know  all,  my  dear  child,"  she  said ;  "  there  is  nothing  new 
*o  be  revealed.  Your  mother  gave  me,  on  her  death-bed,  a 
brief  history  of  her  life,  and  it  only  increased  your  claims  on 
my  maternal  care.  Do  you  think  it  possible,  Gabriella,  that  I 
could  be  so  unjust  and  unkind,  as  to  visit  the  sins  of  a  father 
on  the  head  of  an  innocent  and  unoffending  child  ?  No  ;  be- 
lieve me,  nothing  but  your  own  conduct  could  ever  alienate  my 
affections  or  confidence." 

(200) 


EBNEST    LINWOOD.  201 

"  Teach  me  to  deserve  it,  dear  Mrs.  Linwood,  —  teach  me 
how  to  prove  my  love,  my  gratitude,  and  veneration." 

"  By  confiding  in  me  as  a  mother,  trusting  me  as  a  friend, 
and  seeking  me  as  a  guide  and  counsellor  in  this  most  dangerous 
season  of  youth  and  temptation,  you  are  very  dear  to  me,  Ga- 
briella.  Next  to  my  own  son  and  daughter,  I  love  you,  nor  do 
I  consider  their  happiness  a  more  sacred  deposit  than  yours." 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Linwood,"  I  exclaimed,  covering  my  burning 
face  with  my  hands,  and  again  bowing  it  on  her  lap  —  "Ask  me 
anything,  —  and  nothing  shall  be  held  back  —  I  cannot — I 
dare  not  —  perhaps  I  ought  not  —  " 

"  Tell  me  that  my  son  loves  you  ?  " 

I  started  and  trembled ;  but  as  soon  as  the  words  passed  her 
lips  I  gathered  courage  to  meet  whatever  she  might  say. 

"  If  it  be  indeed  so,"  I  answered,  "  should  not  the  revelation 
come  from  him,  rather  than  me  ?  " 

"  There  needs  no  formal  declaration.  I  have  seen  it,  known 
it,  even  before  yourselves  were  conscious  of  its  existence  —  this 
all  engrossing  passion.  Before  my  son's  return  I  foresaw  it, 
with  the  prescience  of  maternal  love.  I  knew  your  young, 
imaginative  heart  would  find  its  ideal  in  him,  and  that  his  fas- 
tidious taste  and  sensitive,  reserved  nature  would  be  charmed 
by  your  simplicity,  freshness,  and  genius.  I  knew  it,  and  yet  I 
could  not  warn  you.  For  when  did  youth  ever  believe  the 
cautions  of  age,  or  passion  listen  to  the  voice  of  truth  ?  " 

"  Warn  me,  madam  ?  Oh,  you  mean  him,  not  me.  I  never 
had  the  presumption  to  think  myself  his  equal ;  never  sought, 
never  aspired  to  his  love.  You  believe  me,  Mrs.  Linwood  — 
tell  me,  you  believe  me  in  this  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Gabriella.  Your  heart  opened  as  involuntarily  and 
as  inevitably  to  receive  him,  as  the  flower  unfolds  itself  to  the 
noonday  sun.  It  is  your  destiny ;  but  would  to  God  I  could 
oppose  it,  that  I  could  substitute  for  you  a  happier,  if  less  bril- 
liant lot." 

"  A  happier  lot  than  to  be  the  wife  of  Ernest  ?  Oh  !  Mrs. 
Linwood,  Heaven  offers  nothing  to  the  eye  of  faith  more  bliss- 
ful,  more  divine." 


202  ERNEST     LINTTOOD. 

"Alas!  my  child,  such  is  always  the  dream  of  love  like 
yours,  and  from  such  dreams  there  must  be  a  day  of  awakening. 
God  never  intended  their  realization  in  this  world.  You  look 
up  to  me  with  wondering  and  reproachful  glance.  You  have 
feared  me,  Gabriella,  feared  that  I  would  oppose  my  son's 
choice,  if  it  rested  on  one  so  lowly  as  you  believe  yourself. 
You  are  mistaken  —  I  have  no  right  to  dictate  to  him.  He  is 
more  than  of  age,  has  an  independent  fortune  and  an  independ 
ent  will.  The  husband  lifts  his  wife  to  his  own  position  in  so- 
ciety, and  his  name  annihilates  hers.  The  knowledge  of  youi 
father's  character  gives  me  pain,  and  the  possibility  of  his  ever 
claiming  you  as  his  child  is  a  source  of'deep  inquietude,  —  but 
it  is  chiefly  for  you  I  tremble,  for  you  I  suffer,  my  beloved 
Gabriella." 

I  looked  up  in  consternation  and  alarm.  What  invisible 
sword  hung  trembling  over  the  future  ? 

"  Ernest,"  she  began,  then  stopping,  she  raised  me  from  my 
kneeling  attitude,  led  me  to  a  sofa,  and  made  me  seat  myself  at 
her  side.  "  Ernest,"  she  continued,  holding  my  hand  tenderly 
in  hers,  "  has  many  noble  and  attractive  qualities.  He  is  just, 
generous,  and  honorable ;  he  is  upright,  honest,  and  true ;  the 
shadow  of  deceit  never  passed  over  his  soul,  the  stain  of  a 
mean  action  never  rested  on  his  conduct.  But,"  —  and  her 
hand  involuntarily  tightened  around  mine,  —  "  he  has  qualities 
fatal  to  the  peace  of  those  who  love  him,  —  fatal  to  his  own  hap- 
piness; suspicion  haunts  him  like  a  dark  shadow, — jealousy, 
like  a  serpent,  lies  coiled  in  his  heart." 

"  He  has  told  me  all  this,"  I  cried,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  — 
"but  I  fear  not,  —  my  confidence  shall  be  so  entire,  there  shall 
be  no  room  for  suspicion,  —  my  love  so  perfect  it  shall  cast  out 
jealousy." 

"  So  I  once  thought  and  reasoned  in  all  the  glow  of  youthful 
enthusiasm,  but  experience  came  with  its  icy  touch,  and  enthu- 
siasm, hope,  joy,  and  love  itself  faded  and  died.  The  dark  pas- 
eions  of  Ernest  are  hereditary,  —  they  belong  to  the  blood  that 
€ows  in  his  veins,  —  they  are  part  and  lot  of  his  existence,  — 
they  are  the  phantoms  that  haunted  his  father's  path,  and  cast 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  203 

their  chill  shadows  over  the  brief  years  of  my  married  life. 
The  remembrance  of  what  I  have  suffered  myself,  makes  me 
tremble  for  her  who  places  her  happiness  in  my  son's  keeping. 
A  woman  cannot  be  happy  unless  she  is  trusted." 

"  Not  if  she  is  beloved ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  It  seems  to  me 
that  love  should  cover  every  fault,  and  jealousy  be  pardoned 
without  an  effort,  since  it  is  a  proof  of  the  strength  and  fervor 
of  one's  affection.  Let  me  be  loved,  —  I  ask  no  more." 

"  You  love  my  son,  Gabriella  ?  " 

"Love  him!"  I  repeated,  —  "oh  that  you  could  look  into 
my  heart ! " 

Blushing  at  the  fervor  of  my  manner,  I  turned  my  crimson 
face  from  her  gaze.  Then  I  remembered  that  he  knew  not  yet 
what  might  place  an  insurmountable  barrier  between  us,  and  I 
entreated  Mrs.  Linwood  to  tell  him  what  I  wanted  courage  to 
relate. 

"  1  will,  my  child,  but  it  will  make  no  difference  with  him. 
His  high,  chivalrous  sense  of  honor  will  make  the  circum- 
stances of  your  birth  but  a  new  claim  on  his  protection,  —  and 
his  purposes  are  as  immovable  as  his  passions  are  strong.  But 
let  us  talk  no  more  to-night.  It  is  late,  and  you  need  rest. 
"We  will  renew  the  subject  when  you  are  more  composed  —  I 
might  say  both.  I  could  not  give  you  a  greater  proof  of 
my  interest  in  your  happiness,  than  the  allusion  I  have 
made  to  my  past  life.  Never  before  have  I  lifted  the  cur- 
tain from  errors  which  death  has  sanctified.  Let  the  confi- 
dence be  sacred.  Ernest  and  Edith  must  never  know  that 
a  shadow  rested  on  their  father's  virtues.  Nothing  but  the 
hope  of  saving  you  from  the  sufferings  which  once  were  mine, 
could  have  induced  me  to  rend  the  veil  from  the  temple  of  my 
heart." 

"  How  solemn,  how  chilling  are  your  words,"  said  I,  feeling 
very  faint  and  sad.  "  I  wish  I  had  not  heard  them.  Do  joy 
and  sorrow  always  thus  go  hand  in  hand?  In  the  last  few 
hours  I  have  known  the  two  great  extremes  of  life.  I  have 
been  plunged  into  the  depths  of  despair  and  raised  to  the  sum- 
mit of  hope.  I  am  dizzy  and  weak  by  the  sudden  transition. 


204  E  R  N  E  3  T     L  I  N  W  O  O  D  . 

I  will  retire,  dear  madam,  for  my  head  feels  strangely  bewil- 
dered." 

Mrs.  Linwood  embraced  me  with  unusual  tenderness,  kissed 
me  on  both  cheeks,  and  accompanied  me  to  the  door  with  a 
fervent  "  God  bless  you  1 " 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

As  soon  as  I  reached  my  chamber,  I  threw  myself  on  my 
bed,  which  seemed  to  roll  beneath  me  with  a  billowy  motion. 
Never  had  I  felt  so  strangely,  so  wildly.  Confused  images 
crowded  through  my  brain.  I  moved  on  an  undulating  surface. 
Now,  it  was  the  swelling  and  sinking  of  the  blue  gray  waves  of 
ocean,  —  then,  the  heaving  green  of  the  churchyard,  billows  of 
death,  over  which  the  wind  blew  damp  and  chill.  I  had  left 
the  lamp  unextinguished,  where  its  light  reflected  the  rosy  red 
of  the  curtains,  and  that  became  a  fiery  meteor  shooting  through 
crimson  clouds,  and  leaving  a  lurid  track  behind  it. 

I  sat  up  in  bed  ;  frightened  at  the  wild  confusion  of  my  brain, 
I  passed  my  hands  over  my  eyes  to  remove  the  illusion,  but  in 
vain.  The  massy  wardrobe  changed  to  the  rocky  walls  of  the 
Rip  Raps,  and  above  it  I  saw  the  tall  form  of  the  white-locked 
chief.  The  carpet,  with  its  clusters  of  mimic  flowers,  on  a  pale 
gray  ground,  was  a  waste  of  waters,  covered  with  roses,  among 
which  St.  James  was  swimming  and  trying  to  grasp  them. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  cried,  clasping  my  burning  hands. 
M  Am  I  asleep,  and  are  these  images  but  the  visions  of  a  fever- 
ish imagination  ?  " 

"  You  dream,  my  love,"  answered  the  low,  deep  voice  of  Er- 
nest ;  "  but  my  mother  is  coming  to  awaken  you  with  a  cold 
and  icy  hand.  I  have  scattered  roses  over  you  while  you  slept, 
but  her  blighting  touch  has  withered  them." 

Thus  vision  after  vision  succeeded  each  other,  hurrying  along 
like  clouds  in  a  tempestuous  sky.  I  suppose  I  must  have  slept 
at  last,  but  the  morning  found  me  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaustion. 

(206) 


206  ERNEST     LI  K  WOOD. 

Nervous  excitement,  sitting  so  long  on  the  damp  grass,  and  lir- 
gering  out  in  the  dewy  evening  air,  brought  on  an  illness  which 
confined  me  to  my  bed  many  days.  Dr.  Harlowe  threatened  to 
put  me  in  a  strait-jacket  and  send  me  to  a  lunatic  asylum,  if 
I  did  not  behave  better  in  future. 

"  I  must  take  you  home  with  me,"  he  said ;  "  our  quiet,  hum 
drum  mode  of  life  is  better  for  you,  after  all.  Your  little  rock- 
ing chair  stands  exactly  where  you  used  to  sit  in  it.  I  do  not 
like  to  see  any  one  else  occupy  it.  I  get  in  disgrace  with  my 
\vife  every  day,  now  you  are  not  by  me  to  hang  up  my  hat  and 
remind  me  by  a  glance  to  shake  the  dust  from  my  feet.  Such 
a  quick  pulse  as  this  will  never  do,  my  child." 

For  a  week  I  was  kept  in  a  darkened  room,  and  perfect  quie- 
tude was  commanded.  The  doctor  came  every  day,  and  some- 
times several  times  a  day,  with  his  smiling,  sunny  counte- 
nance, and  anxious,  affectionate  heart.  Mrs.  Linwood  and 
Edith  stole  gently  in  and  out,  with  steps  soft  as  falling  snow- 
flakes,  and  Margaret  Melville  was  not  permitted  to  enter  at  all. 
Every  morning  fresh  flowers  were  laid  upon  my  pillow,  which  I 
knew  were  gathered  by  the  hand  of  Ernest,  and  they  whispered 
to  me  of  such  sweet  things  my  languid  senses  ached  to  hear 
them. 

One  day,  while  in  this  passive,  languishing,  dreamy  condi- 
tion, having  fallen  into  tranquil  slumbers,  I  was  left  a  few 
moments  alone.  I  was  awakened  by  a  stronger  touch  than  that 
of  Edith's  fairy  hand. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do,  darling  ?  How  do  you  do  ?  "  cried  a 
hearty,  gay  voice,  that  echoed  like  a  bugle  in  the  stillness  of  the 
room.  "  The  doctor  said  you  were  getting  well,  and  I  deter- 
mined I  would  not  be  kept  out  any  longer.  What  in  the  world 
do  they  banish  me  for  ?  I  am  the  best  nurse  in  the  universe, 
strong  as  a  lion,  and  wakeful  as  an  owl.  What  do  they  shut 
you  up  in  this  dark  room  for  ? — just  to  give  you  the  blues  !  — 
It  is  all  nonsense.  I  am  going  to  put  back  these  curtains,  and 
let  in  some  light,  —  you  will  become  etiolated.  I  want  to  see 
how  you  look." 

Dashing  at  the  curtains,  she  tossed  two  of  them  back  as  high 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  207 

as  she  could  throw  them,  letting  in  a  flood  of  sunshine  to  my 
weak  and  dazzled  eyes. 

"Don't!  don't!"  I  entreated,  getting  dreadfully  nervous 
and  agitated  ;  "  I  cannot  bear  it,  —  indeed  I  cannot." 

"  Yes  you  can ;  you  will  be  better  in  a  moment,  —  it  is  only 
coming  out  of  darkness  into  marvellous  light,  —  a  sudden  change, 
that  is  all.  You  do  look  white,  —  white,  delicate,  and  sweet  as 
a  water-lily.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  invite  Ernest  up  to  see 
you,  you  look  so  interesting.  He  has  been  like  a  distracted 
man,  a  wandering  Jew,  an  unlaid  ghost,  ever  since  you  have 
been  ill.  And  poor  Richard  Clyde  comes  every  night  to  in- 
quire after  you,  with  such  a  woebegone  countenance.  And 
that  great,  ugly,  magnificent  creature  of  a  teacher,  he  has  been 
too,  —  you  certainly  are  a  consequential  little  lady." 

Thus  she  rattled  on,  without  dreaming  of  the  martyrdom  sho 
was  inflicting  on  my  weakened  nerves. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  mean  to  be  kind,"  said  I,  ready  to 
cry  from  weakness  and  irritation ;  "  but  if  you  will  only  drop 
the  curtains  and  leave  me,  I  will  be  so  very  grateful." 

"  There  —  the  curtains  are  down.  I  am  not  going  to  speak 
another  word  —  I  am  a  perfect  lamb  — I  will  bathe  your  head 
with  cologne,  and  put  you  to  sleep  nicely." 

Stepping  across  the  room,  as  she  thought,  very  softly,  but 
making  more  noise  than  Edith  Avould  in  a  week,  she  seized  a 
bottle  of  cologne,  and  coming  close  to  the  bedside,  bent  over 
me,  so  that  her  great,  black  eyes  almost  touched  mine.  Had 
they  been  a  pair  of  pistols,  I  could  not  have  recoiled  with  greater 
terror. 

"  Do  n't ! "  again  I  murmured,  —  "  I  am  very  weak." 

"  Hush  !  I  am  going  to  put  you  to  sleep." 

Pouring  the  cologne  in  her  hand,  till  it  dripped  all  over  the 
counterpane  and  pillow,  she  deluged  my  hair,  and  patted  my 
forehead  as  she  would  a  colt's  that  she  wanted  to  stand  still. 
In  mute  despair  I  submitted  to  her  tender  mercies,  certain  I 
should  die,  if  some  one  did  not  come  to  my  relief,  when  tho 
door  softly  opened,  and  Mrs.  Linwood  entered. 

"  Heaven  be  praised,"  thought  I,  —  I  had  not  strength  to  saj 


208  EKNEST     LINWOOD. 

it.  Tears  of  weariness  and  vexation  were  mingling  with  tilt 
drops  with  which  she  had  saturated  my  hair. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  in  a  tone  of  serious  dis- 
pleasure, "  what  have  you  been  doing?  I  left  her  in  a  sweet 
sleep,  and  now  I  find  her  wan,  tearful,  and  agitated.  You  will 
worry  her  into  a  relapse." 

"  All  she  needs  now  is  cheerful  company,  I  am  sure,"  she 
answered  demurely;  "you  all  make  her  so  tender  and  baby- 
like,  she  never  will  have  any  strength  again.  I  've  been  as 
soft  as  a  cooing  dove.  Dr.  Harlowe  would  have  been  delighted 
with  me." 

"  You  must  go,  Margaret,  indeed  you  must.  You  may  think 
yourself  a  dove,  but  others  have  a  different  opinion." 

"  Going,  going,  gone ! "  she  cried,  giving  me  a  vehement  kiss 
and  vanishing. 

The  consequence  of  this  energetic  visit  was  a  relapse ;  and 
Dr.  Harlowe  was  as  angry  as  his  nature  admitted  when  he 
learned  the  cause. 

"  That  wild-cat  must  not  remain  here,"  said  he,  shaking  his 
head.  "  She  will  kill  my  gentle  patient.  Where  did  you  find 
her,  Mrs.  Linwood  ?  From  what  menagerie  has  she  broken 
loose  ?  " 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  an  early  and  very  dear  friend  of 
mine,"  replied  Mrs.  Linwood,  smiling ;  "  a  very  original  and 
independent  young  lady,  I  grant  she  is." 

"  What  in  the  world  did  you  bring  her  here  for  ?  "  asked  the 
doctor  bluntly  ;  "  I  intend  to  chain  her,  while  my  child  is  sick." 

"  She  wished  to  make  a  visit  in  the  country,  and  I  thought 
her  wild  good-humor  would  be  a  counterpoise  to  the  poetry 
and  romance  of  Grandison  Place." 

"  You  have  other  more  attractive  and  tractable  guests.  You 
will  not  object  to  my  depriving  you  for  a  short  time  of  her. 
May  I  invite  her  home  with  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  —  but  she  will  not  accept  the  invitation.  She  is 
not  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Harlowe." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  —  she  will  go  with  me,  I  am 
positive.'' 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  209 

They  conversed  in  a  low  tone  in  one  of  the  window  recesses, 
but  I  heard  what  they  said ;  and  when  Mrs.  Linwood  afterwards 
told  me  that  Meg  the  Dauntless  had  gone  off  with  the  doctor 
in  high  glee,  I  was  inexpressibly  relieved,  for  I  had  conceived 
an  unconquerable  terror  of  her.  There  was  other  company  in 
the  house,  as  Edith  had  prophesied,  but  in  a  mansion  so  large 
and  so  admirably  arranged,  an  invalid  might  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet  without  interfering  with  the  social  enjoyment  of  others. 

I  was  slowly  but  surely  recovering.  At  night  Edith  had 
her  harp  placed  in  the  upper  piazza,  and  sang  and  played  some 
of  her  sweetest  and  most  soothing  strains.  Another  voice,  too, 
mingled  at  times  with  the  breeze-like  swelling  of  the  thrilling 
chords,  and  a  hand  whose  master-touch  my  spirit  recognized, 
swept  the  trembling  strings. 

How  long  it  seemed  since  I  had  stood  with  him  under  the 
shade  of  the  broad  elm-tree  !  With  what  fluctuating  emotions 
I  looked  forward  to  meeting  him  again ! 

At  length  the  doctor  pronounced  me  able  to  go  down  stairs. 

"  I  am  going  to  keep  the  wild-cat  till  you  are  a  little  strong- 
er," he  said.  "  She  has  made  herself  acquainted  with  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  keeps  us  in  a  state  of  perpetual  mirth  and 
excitement.  What  do  you  think  she  has  done  ?  She  has 
actually  made  Mr.  Regulus  escort  her  on  horseback  into  the 
country,  and  says  she  is  resolved  to  captivate  him." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  idea  of  my  tall,  awkward 
master,  a  knight-errant  to  this  queen  of  the  amazons. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  be  supplanted  by  her  ?  "  he  mis 
chievously  asked. 

"  As  an  assistant  teacher  ?  " 

"  As  an  assistant  for  life.  Poor  Regulus  !  he  was  quite  sick 
during  your  absence  ;  and  when  I  accused  him  of  being  in  love, 
the  simple-hearted  creature  confessed  the  fact  '  and  owned  the 
soft  impeachment.  I  really  feel  very  sorry  for  him.  He  has 
a  stupendous  heart,  and  a  magnificent  brain.  You  ought  to 
have  treated  him  better.  He  would  be  to  you  a  tower  of 
strength  in  ihe  day  of  trouble.  Little  girl,  you  ought  to  be 
proud  of  such  a.  conquest." 


210  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

u  It  filled  me  with  sorrow  and  shame,"  I  answered,  "  and  had 
he  not  himself  betrayed  the  secret,  it  never  would  have  been 
known.  It  seemed  too  deep  a  humiliation  for  one  whom  I  so 
much  respected  and  revered,  to  bow  a  supplicant  to  me.  You 
do  not  know  how  unhappy  it  made  me." 

"  You  must  get  hardened  to  these  things,  Gabriella.  As  you 
seem  to  be  quite  a  dangerous  young  lady,  destined  to  do  great 
havoc  in  the  world,  it  will  not  do  to  be  too  sensitive  on  the 
subject.  But  remember,  you  must  not  dispose  of  your  heart 
without  consulting  me.  And  at  any  rate,  wait  three  years  longer 
for  your  judgment  to  mature." 

The  conscious  color  rose  to  my  cheek.  He  took  my  hand, 
and  placed  his  fingers  on  my  throbbing  pulse. 

"  Too  quick,  too  quick,"  said  he,  looking  gravely  in  my  face. 
"  This  will  never  do.  When  I  bring  the  wild-cat  back,  I  mean 
to  carry  you  off.  It  will  do  you  good  to  stay  a  while  with  my 
good,  methodical,  unromantic  wife.  I  can  take  you  round  *o 
visit  my  patients  with  me.  I  have  a  new  buggy,  larger  than 
the  one  in  which  we  had  such  a  famous  ride  together." 

The  associations  connected  with  that  ride  were  so  sad,  I 
wished  he  had  not  mentioned  it ;  yet  the  conversation  had  done 
me  good.  It  kept  me  from  dwelling  too  exclusively  on  one 
engrossing  subject. 

"  Now  give  me  your  arm,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  let  me  have 
the  privilege  of  escorting  you  down  stairs." 

As  we  descended,  he  put  his  arm  round  me,  for  I  was  weaker 
than  he  thought  I  was,  and  my  knees  bent  under  me. 

"  We  doctors  ought  not  to  have  jealous  wives,  my  dear,  ought 
•KC  ?  My  dear,  good  woman  has  not  one  particle  of  jealousy 
•n  her  composition.  She  never  looks  after  my  heart;  but  keeps 
a  wonderfully  sharp  eye  on  my  head  and  feet.  A  very  sensi- 
ole  person,  Mrs.  Harlowe  is." 

There  was  intentional  kindness  in  this  apparent  levity.  He 
saw  I  was  agitated,  and  wished  to  divert  my  thoughts.  Per- 
haps he  read  more  deeply  than  I  imagined,  for  those  who  seem 
to  glance  lightly  on  the  surface  of  feeling  only,  often  penetrate 
to  its  depths. 


EKNEST     LINWOOD.  211 

The  drawing-room  was  divided  by  folding  doors,  which  were 
seldom  closed,  and  in  the  four  corners  of  each  division  were 
crimson  lounges,  of  luxurious  and  graceful  form.  Company 
generally  gathered  in  the  front  part,  but  the  backroom  was 
equally  pleasant,  as  it  opened  into  the  flower-garden  through  a 
balcony  shaded  by  vines. 

"  Come  in  here,  and  rest  awhile,"  said  the  doctor,  leading  me 
into  the  back  parlor;  "  it  will  be  a  pleasant  surprise  to  Mrs. 
Linwood.  I  did  not  tell  her  I  was  going  to  bring  you  down." 

As  we  entered,  I  saw  Ernest  Linwood  half  reclining  on  a 
lounge  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  which  hung  listlessly  at  his  side. 
As  he  looked  up,  his  pale  face  lighted  suddenly  and  brilliantly 
as  burning  gas.  He  rose,  threw  down  his  book,  came  hastily 
forward,  took  my  hand,  and  drawing  it  from  the  doctor's  arm, 
twined  it  round  his  own." 

"  How  well  you  look  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Dr.  Harlowe,  we 
owe  you  ten  thousand  thanks." 

"  This  is  a  strange  way  of  showing  it,"  said  the  doctor,  look- 
ing round  him  with  a  comical  expression,  "  to  deprive  me  of  my 
companion,  and  leave  me  as  lonely  as  Simon  Stylites  on  the  top 
of  his  pillar." 

Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith,  who  had  seen  our  entrance,  came 
forward  and  congratulated  me  on  my  convalescence.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  been  ill,  and  the  pleasure  of  being  released 
from  durance  was  like  that  of  a  weary  child  let  loose  from 
school.  I  was  grateful  and  happy.  The  assurance  I  received 
from  the  first  glance  of  Ernest,  that  what  his  mother  had  prom- 
ised to  reveal  had  made  no  change  in  his  feelings  ;  that  the 
love,  which  I  had  almost  begun  to  think  an  illusion  of  my  own 
brain,  was  a  real  existing  passion,  filled  me  with  unspeakable 
joy.  The  warnings  of  Mrs.  Linwood  had  no  power  to  weaken 
my  faith  and  hope.  Had  she  not  told  me  that  her  love  had 
died  ?  I  felt  that  mine  was  immortal. 

The  impression  made  by  my  mother's  sad  history  was  still 

too  fresh  and  deep,  and  too  much  of  the  languor  of  indisposition 

still  clung  to  me  to  admit  of  my  being  gay ;  but  it  was  pleasant 

to  hear  the  cheerful  laugh  and  lively  conversation,  showing  that 

14 


212  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

the  tide  of  social  life  ran  clear  and  high.  Several  new  guests 
had  arrived,  whom  I  had  not  seen  before,  to  whom  I  was  intro- 
duced ;  but  as  Dr.  Harlowe  commanded  me  to  be  a  good  girl 
and  remain  quietly  in  a  corner,  a  passing  introduction  limited 
the  intercourse  of  the  evening. 

Just  as  the  doctor  was  taking  leave,  a  loud,  merry  ha,  ha  1 
came  leaping  up  the  steps,  followed  by  the  amazonian  form  of 
Madge  Wildfire,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Regulus. 

"  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  ! "  exclaimed  Er- 
nest. 

"  Shade  of  Esculapius  !"  cried  the  doctor,  recoiling  fiom  the 
threshold. 

"  Glad  to  see  me  ?  I  know  you  are.  Taken  you  all  by 
storm.  Found  this  gentleman  wandering  like  a  troubled  spirit 
by  the  way-side,  and  pressed  him  into  service.  I  shall  make  a 
gallant  knight  of  him  yet.  My  dear  soul ! "  she  cried,  spying 
me  out  and  rushing  towards  me,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  here, 
escaped  from  the  ruthless  hands  of  the  doctor.  I  never  saw 
such  a  despot  in  my  life,  except  one  ;  "  here  she  looked  laugh- 
ingly and  defiantly  at  Ernest,  —  "  he  would  out-Nero  Nero  him- 
self, if  he  had  the  opportunity." 

"  If  I  were  the  autocrat  of  Russia  I  would  certainly  exercise 
the  right  of  banishment,"  he  answered  quietly. 

During  this  sportive  encounter,  Mr.  Regulus  came  up  to 
greet  me.  I  had  not  seen  him  since  our  memorable  interview 
in  the  academy,  and  his  sallow  face  glowed  with  embarrassment. 
I  rose  to  meet  him,  anxious  to  show  him  every  mark  of  respect 
and  esteem.  I  asked  him  to  take  a  seat  on  the  sofa  by  me, 
and  ventured  to  congratulate  him  on  the  exceedingly  entertain- 
ing acquaintance  he  had  made. 

"A  very  extraordinary  young  lady,"  he  cried,  "amazingly 
merry,  and  somewhat  bold.  I  had  not  the  most  remote  idea  of 
coming  here,  when  I  left  home ;  but  suddenly  I  found  her  arm 
linked  in  mine,  and  was  told  that  I  must  escort  her  nolent 
vcJens" 

u  Indeed  !  I  thought  you  came  to  inquire  Jifter  my  health, 
a  id  wae  feeling  «/»  grateful  1  " 


ERNEST     LINTVOOD.  213 

"  I  did  not  know  I  should  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and 
I  did  not  hope  you  would  welcome  me  with  so  much  cordiali- 
ty. I  have  made  many  inquiries  after  you ;  indeed,  I  have 
scarcely  thought  of  any  thing  else  since  you  were  ill.  You  look 
pale,  Gabriella.  Are  you  sure  you  are  quite  well,  my  child  ?  " 

The  old  endearing  epithet !     It  touched  me. 

"I  do  not  feel  strong  enough  to  move  Mount  Atlas,  but 
well  enough  to  enjoy  the  society  of  my  friends.  I  never  ap- 
preciated it  so  highly  before." 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  I  miss  you,"  he  said,  taking  my  fan 
and  drawing  his  thumb  over  it,  as  if  he  were  feeling  the  edge 
of  his  ferula.  "  The  season  of  summer  lingers,  but  the  flowera 
no  longer  bloom  for  me.  The  birds  sing,  but  their  notes  have 
lost  their  melody.  My  perception  of  the  beautiful  has  grown 
dim,  but  the  remembrance  of  it  can  never  fade.  I  never  knew 
before  what  the  pleasures  of  memory  truly  were." 

"  I  recollect  a  copy  you  once  set  me,  Mr.  Regulus,  — '  Sweet 
is  the  memory  of  absent  friends,'  —  I  thought  it  such  a  charm- 
ing one ! " 

"  Do  you  remember  that  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  delighted  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Yes  !  I  remember  all  the  copies  you  ever  set  me.  Teach- 
ers should  be  very  careful  what  sentiments  they  write,  for  they 
are  never  forgotten.  Don't  you  recollect  how  all  the  pupils 
once  laughed  at  a  mistake  in  punctuation  of  mine  ?  The  copy 
was,  '  Hate  not.  but  pity  the  wicked,  as  well  as  the  poor.'  A3 
the  line  was  not  quite  filled,  you  added  Gabriella,  after  making 
a  full  period.  I  forgot  the  stop  and  wrote,  '  Hate  not,  but  pity 
the  wicked,  as  well  as  the  poor  Gabriella.'  The  ridicule  of  the 
scholars  taught  me  the  importance  of  punctuation.  Our  mis- 
takes are  our  best  lessons,  after  all." 

"  And  do  you  remember  these  trifles  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  How 
strange  !  It  shows  you  have  the  heart  of  a  child  still.  I  love 
to  hear  you  recall  them." 

"  I  could  fill  a  volume  with  these  reminiscences.  I  believe  I 
will  write  one,  one  of  these  days,  and  you  shall  be  the  hero." 

A  merry  alt  ircation  at  the  door  attracted  our  attention.     Dr. 


214  ERNEST      LIN  WOOD. 

Harlowe  was  endeavoring  to  persuade  Madge  to  go  back  with 
him,  but  she  strenuously  refused. 

"  I  never  could  stay  more  than  ten  days  at  a  time  in  one 
place  in  my  life.  Besides,  I  have  worn  out  my  welcome,  I 
Know  I  have.  Your  house  is  not  new.  It  jars  too  much  when 
I  walk.  I  saw  Mrs.  Harlowe  looking  ruefully  at  some  cracked 
glass  and  china,  and  then  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  It  is  all 
your  doings,  you  young  romp.' " 

"  Very  likely,"  cried  the  doctor,  laughing  heartily,  "  but  it 
only  makes  me  more  anxious  to  secure  you.  You  are  a  safety- 
valve  in  the  house.  All  my  misdemeanors  escape  unreproved 
in  the  presence  of  your  superior  recklessness." 

I  never  saw  any  one  enjoy  a  jest  more  than  Dr.  Harlowe. 
He  really  liked  the  dashing  and  untamable  Madge.  He  was 
fond  of  young  companions ;  and  though  his  wife  was  such  a 
superior  woman,  and  such  an  incomparable  housekeeper,  there 
was  nothing  very  exhilarating  about  her. 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  Madge ;  "  I  must  stay  and  take  care  of 
Gabriella." 

"  If  you  play  any  of  your  wild  pranks  on  her  again,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  it  were  better  for  you  that  you  had  never  been  born." 

With  this  threat  he  departed ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  dozen 
people  had  been  added  to  the  household  in  the  person  of  the 
dauntless  Meg.  I  never  saw  any  one  with  such  a  flow  of  ani- 
mal spirits,  with  so  much  oxygen  in  their  composition.  I  should 
think  the  vital  principle  in  such  a  constitution  would  burn  out 
sooner  than  in  others,  like  a  flame  fed  by  alcohol.  She  was 
older  than  myself,  and  yet  had  no  more  apparent  reflection 
than  a  child  of  five  years  old.  It  was  impossible  to  make  her 
angry.  The  gravest  rebuke,  the  most  cutting  sarcasm,  were  re- 
ceived with  a  merry  twinkle  of  the  eye  or  a  rich  swell  of 
laughter.  She  was  bold,  masculine,  wild,  and  free,  and  I 
feared  her  as  much  as  I  would  the  wild-cat,  after  whom  the 
doctor  had  christened  her,  —  yet  there  was  something  about  her 
that  I  liked.  It  was  probably  the  interest  she  professed  in  me, 
which  must  have  been  genuine.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to 
affect  any  thing. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  213 

Who  would  dream  of  any  one  sporting  with  such  a  man  as 
Mr.  Regulus  ?  Yet  she  treated  him  exactly  as  if  he  were  a 
great  boy.  He  had  paid  us  his  parting  salutations,  and  was 
half-way  down  the  steps  before  she  was  aware  of  his  intended 
departure. 

"  You  are  not  going  so  soon,  indeed  you  are  not,"  she  ex- 
claimed, running  after  him,  seizing  his  hat,  and  setting  it  jauntily 
on  her  own  head.  Her  abundant  hair  prevented  it  from  falling 
over  her  face.  "  I  brought  you  here  to  stay  all  the  evening; 
and  stay  you  must  and  shall.  What  do  you  want  to  go  back  to 
your  musty  old  bachelor's  room  for,  when  there  is  such  delight- 
ful company  here  ?  " 

Taking  hold  of  his  arm  and  whirling  him  briskly  round,  she 
led  him  back  into  the  parlor,  laughing  and  triumphant. 

She  looked  so  saucy,  so  jaunty,  so  full  of  nerve  and  adven- 
ture, with  the  large  hat  pitched  on  one  side  of  her  head,  I  couU" 
not  help  saying, — 

"  What  a  pity  she  were  not  a  man  ! " 

Mr.  Regulus  did  not  appear  as  awkward  as  might  be  sup- 
posed. There  was  a  latent  spark  of  fun  and  frolic  in  his  largo 
brain,  to  which  her  wild  hand  applied  the  match  ;  and  though  I 
know  he  felt  the  disappointment  of  his  aifections  sorely,  deeply, 
he  yielded  himself  to  her  assault  with  tolerable  grace  and  readi- 
ness. 

Supper  was  always  an  unceremonious  meal,  sent  round  or, 
waiters,  from  a  round  table  in  the  back  parlor,  at  which  Mrs. 
Lin  wood  presided.  Gentlemen  took  their  cups  standing  or 
walking,  just  as  it  happened ;  and  ladies,  too,  though  they  were 
generally  seated.  Ernest  drew  a  light  table  to  the  lounge 
where  I  sat ;  and  sitting  by  me,  said,  as  I  was  an  invalid,  I 
should  be  peculiarly  favored. 

"  Methinks  she  is  not  the  only  favored  one,"  said  the  sweet 
voice  of  Edith,  as  she  floated  near. 

"  There  is  room  for  you,  dear  Edith,"  said  I,  moving  closer  to 
the  arm  of  the  sofa,  and  leaving  a  space  for  her  between  us. 

"  Room  on  the  sofa,  Edith,"  added  he,  moving  towards  me, 
and  making  a  space  for  her  on  his  right,  "  and  tenfold  room  in 
my  heart." 


216  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

He  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  down  to  his  side. 

"  This  is  as  it  should  be,"  he  said,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  with  a  radiant  countenance.  "  Thus  would  I  ever  bind 
to  my  heart  the  two  loveliest,  dearest,  best." 

Edith  bent  her  head,  and  kissed  the  hand  which  held  hers. 
As  she  looked  up  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  glistening. 

"  What  would  mamma  say  ?  "  she  asked,  trying  to  conceal  her 
emotion.  "  Surely  there  can  be  none  dearer  and  better  than 
she  is." 

"  Nay,  Edith,"  said  he,  passing  his  arm  tenderly  round  hex 
waist ;  "  you  might  as  well  say,  if  I  singled  out  two  bright,  es- 
pecial stars  from  the  firmament,  that  I  did  not  think  the  moon 
fair  or  excellent.  The  love  I  bear  my  mother  is  so  exalted  by 
reverence,  it  stands  apart  by  itself  like  the  queen  of  night, 
serene  and  holy,  moving  in  a  distinct  and  lofty  sphere.  There 
is  one  glory  of  the  sun,  Edith,  and  another  glory  of  the  moon, 
and  one  star  diifereth  from  another  in  glory.  Yet  they  are  all 
glorious  in  themselves,  and  all  proclaim  the  goodness  and  glory 
of  the  Creator." 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,"  observed  Edith,  in  a  low,  tremulous 
tone,  "  that  when  love  takes  possession  of  the  heart,  the  natural 
iffections  have  comparatively  little  strength  ;  that  it  is  to  them  as 
is  the  ocean  to  its  tributaries.  I  know  nothing  of  it  by  experi- 
ence, nor  do  I  wish  to,  if  it  has  power  to  diminish  the  filial  and 
sisterly  tenderness  which  constitutes  my  chief  joy." 

"  My  dear  Edith,  it  is  not  so.  Every  pure  and  generous  af- 
fection expands  the  heart,  and  gives  it  new  capacities  for  loving. 
Have  you  not  heard  of  heaven,  — '  the  more  angels  the  more 
room  ?  '  So  it  is  with  the  human  heart.  It  is  elastic,  and  en- 
larges with  every  lawful  claimant  to  be  admitted  into  its  sanc- 
tuary. It  is  true  there  is  a  love  which  admits  of  no  rivalry  ;  " 
here  his  eye  turned  involuntarily  to  me,  "  which  enshrines  but 
one  object,  which  dwells  in  the  inner  temple,  the  angel  of 
angels.  But  other  affections  do  not  become  weaker  in  conse- 
quence of  its  strength.  We  may  not  see  the  fire-flame  burn  ao 
orightly  when  the  sun  shines  upon  it,  but  the  flame  is  burning 
still." 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  217 

*  Gabriella  does  not  speak,"  said  Edith,  with  an  incredulous 
wave  of  her  golden  locks.  "  Tell  me,  Gabriella,  are  his  words 
true  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  very  good  metaphysician,"  I  answered,  "  but  I 
should  think  the  heart  very  narrow,  that  could  accommodate 
only  those  whom  Nature  placed  in  it.  It  seems  to  me  but  a 
refined  species  of  selfishness." 

The  color  crimsoned  on  Edith's  fair  cheek.  I  had  forgotten 
what  she  had  said  to  me  of  her  own  exclusive  affection.  I 
sympathized  so  entirely  in  his  sentiments,  expressed  with  such 
beautiful  enthusiasm,  I  forgot  every  thing  else.  The  moment  I 
had  spoken,  memory  rebuked  my  transient  oblivion.  She  must 
believe  it  an  intentional  sarcasm.  How  could  I  be  so  careless 
of  the  feelings  of  one  so  gentle  and  so  kind  ? 

"  I  know  /am  selfish,"  she  said.  "  I  have  told  you  my  weak- 
ness, —  sin  it  may  be,  —  and  I  deserve  the  reproach." 

"  You  cannot  think  I  meant  it  as  such.  You  know  I  could 
not.  I  had  forgotten  what  I  have  heard  you  previously  utter. 
*  was  thinking  only  of  the  present.  Forgive  me,  Edith,  for 
being  so  thoughtless  and  impulsive ;  for  being  so  selfish  myself." 

"  I  am  wrong,"  said  Edith,  ingenuously.  "  I  suppose  con- 
science applied  the  words.  Brother,  you,  who  are  the  cause  of 
the  offence,  must  make  my  peace." 

"  It  is  already  made,"  answered  I,  holding  out  my  hand  to 
meet  hers ;  "  if  you  acquit  me  of  intentional  wrong,  I  ask  no 
more." 

As  our  hands  united  before  him,  he  clasped  them  both  in  one 
of  his  own. 

"  A  triune  band,"  said  he,  earnestly,  "  that  never  must  be 
broken.  Edith,  Gabriella,  remember  this.  Love  each  other 
now,  love  each  other  forever,  even  as  I  love  ye  both." 

I  was  sensitive  and  childish  from  recent  indisposition,  or  I 
should  have  had  more  self-control.  I  could  not  prevent  the 
tears  from  rushing  to  my  eyes  and  stealing  down  my  cheeks. 
As  we  were  sitting  by  ourselves,  in  a  part  of  the  room  lesa 
brilliantly  lighted  than  the  rest,  and  as  we  all  conversed  in  a 


218  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

low  "voice,  this  little  scene  was  not  conspicuous,  the  ugh  it  might 
have  possibly  been  observed. 

Those  in  the  front  room  seemed  exceedingly  merry.  Madge 
had  placed  a  table  before  herself  and  Mr.  Regulus,  in  imitation 
of  Ernest,  and  had  piled  his  plate  with  quantities  of  cake,  as 
high  as  a  pyramid.  A  gay  group  surrounded  the  table,  that 
seemed  floating  on  a  tide  of  laughter ;  or  rather  making  an 
eddy,  in  '  which  their  spirits  were  whirling.' 

As  soon  as  supper  was  over,  she  told  Mr.  Regulus  to  lead 
her  to  the  piano,  as  she  was  literally  dying  to  play.  There 
was  no  instrument  at  Dr.  Harlowe's  but  a  jew's-harp,  and  the 
tongue  of  that  was  broken.  As  she  seated  herself  at  the  piano, 
Mr.  Regulus  reached  forward  and  took  up  a  violin  which  was 
lying  upon  it. 

"  Do  you  play  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  used  to  play  a  good  deal  when  a  boy,  but  that  was  a  long 
time  ago,"  he  answered,  drawing  the  bow  across  the  strings 
with  no  unskilful  hand. 

"  Delightful,  charming  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Can  you  play 
'  Gome,  haste  to  the  wedding  ?  ' " 

He  replied  by  giving  the  inspiring  air,  which  she  accompa- 
nied in  her  wild,  exciting  manner,  laughing  and  shaking  her 
head  with  irrepressible  glee.  I  was  astonished  to  see  my 
dignified  tutor  thus  lending  himself  for  the  amusement  of  the 
evening.  I  should  have  thought  as  soon  of  Jupiter  playing  a 
dancing  tune,  as  Mr.  Regulus.  But  he  not  only  played  well, 
he  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  I  was  prepared  now,  to  see  him  on  the 
floor  dancing  with  Madge,  though  I  sincerely  hoped  he  would 
not  permit  himself  to  be  exhibited  in  that  manner.  Madge 
was  resolved  upon  this  triumph,  and  called  loudly  to  Edith  to 
come  and  take  her  place  at  the  instrument,  and  play  the  liveli- 
est waltz  in  the  universe  for  her  and  Mr.  Regulus. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Melville,"  said  he,  laying  down  his  violin 
and  resuming  his  usual  grave  and  dignified  manner,  "  I  am  no 
dancing  bear." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Regulus,  I  have  no  doubt  you  dance  as  charm- 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  219 

ingly  as  you  play.     Besides,  you  would  not  be  &v>  ungallant  aa 
to  refuse  a  lady's  request." 

"  Not  a  lady-like  request,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrewd  cast 
of  the  eye  under  his  beetling  brows. 

This  sarcasm  was  received  \vith  acclamation  ;  but  Meg  lifted 
her  brow  as  dauntless  as  ever  and  laughed  as  loudly. 

I  began  to  feel  weary  of  mirth  in  which  I  could  not  sympa- 
thize. Mrs.  Linwood  came  to  me,  and  saying  I  looked  pale 
and  wan,  insisted  upon  my  retiring.  To  this  I  gladly  assented. 
The  little  misunderstanding  between  Edith  and  myself  weighed 
heavily  on  my  spirits,  and  I  longed  to  be  alone. 

Just  as  we  were  crossing  the  hall  of  entrance,  Richard  Clyde 
came  in.  He  greeted  me  with  so  much  feeling,  such  earnest,  un- 
affected pleasure,  yet  a  pleasure  so  chastened  by  sensibility, 
I  realized,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  the  value  of  the  heart  I 
had  rejected. 

"  you  have  been  ill,  Gabriella,"  said  he,  retaining  for  a  mo- 
ment the  hand  he  had  taken.  "  You  look  pale  and  languid. 
You  do  not  know  how  much  your  friends  have  suffered  on  your 
account,  or  how  grateful  they  feel  for  your  convalesence." 

"  I  did  not  think  I  was  of  so  much  consequence,"  I  replied. 
K  It  is  well  to  be  sick  now  and  then,  so  as  to  be  able  to  appre- 
ciate the  kindness  of  friends." 

"  You  must  suffer  us  to  go  now,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood 
moving  towards  the  staircase ;  "  you  will  find  merry  company 
in  the  parlor  ready  to  entertain  you.  As  Gabriella  is  no  longer 
a  prisoner,  you  will  have  future  opportunities  of  seeing  her." 
.  "  I  must  embrace  them  soon,"  said  he,  sadly.  "  I  expect  to 
leave  this  place  before  long,  —  my  friends,  and  my  country." 

"  You,  Richard  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  Then  I  remembered  the  re- 
marks I  had  heard  on  commencement  day,  of  his  being  sent  to 
Europe  to  complete  his  education.  I  regretted  to  lose  the 
champion  of  my  childhood,  the  friend  of  my  youth,  and  my 
countenance  expressed  my  emotion. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you,  Gabriella,"  said  he,  in  a 
low  tone.  "  May  I  see  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  —  that  is,  I  think,  I  hope  so."     A  glance  that 


220  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

flashed  on  me  from  the  doorway  arrested  my  stammerir.g  tongue. 
Ernest  was  standing  there,  observing  the  interview,  and  the 
dark  passion  of  which  his  mother  had  warned  me  clouded  his 
brow.  Snatching  my  hand  from  Richard,  I  bade  him  a  hasty 
good-night,  and  ascended  the  stairs,  with  a  prophetic  heart. 

Yet,  while  I  felt  the  shadow  on  his  brow  stealing  darkly  over 
me,  I  repeated  to  myself,  — 

"  The  keenest  pangs  the  wretched  find, 

Are  rapture  to  the  dreary  void, 
The  Icp.Sess  desert  of  the  mind, 
The  waste  of  feelings  unemployed.' 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE  interview  with  Richard  Clyde  the  next  day,  was  a  pain 
fully  agitating  one.  I  had  no  conception  till  then,  how  closely 
and  strongly  love  and  hope  had  twined  their  fibres  round  him  ; 
or  how  hard  would  be  the  task  of  rending  them  from  him.  Why 
could  I  not  appreciate  the  value  of  his  frank,  noble,  and  confid- 
ing nature  ?  It  may  be  because  we  had  been  children  together, 
and  that  familiarity  was  unfavorable  to  the  growth  of  love  in 
one  of  my  poetic  nature.  I  must  look  up.  The  cloud  crowned 
cliff  did  not  appall  my  high-reaching  eye. 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again,  Gabriella,"  said  he,  as  he  wrung 
my  hand  in  parting.  "  I  shall  not  see  you  again  before  my  de- 
parture, —  I  would  not  for  worlds  renew  the  anguish  of  this 
moment.  I  do  not  reproach  you,  —  you  have  never  deceived 
me.  My  own  hopes  have  been  building  a  bridge  of  flowers  over 
a  dark  abyss.  But,  by  the  Heaven  that  hears  me,  Gabriella, 
the  keenest  pang  I  now  experience  is  not  for  my  own  loss,  it  is 
the  dread  I  feel  for  you." 

"  Not  one  word  more,  Richard,  if  you  love  me.  I  have  been 
tender  of  your  feelings,  —  respect  mine.  There  is  but  one  thing 
on  earth  I  prize  more  than  your  friendship.  Let  me  cherish 
that  for  the  sacred  memory  of  auld  lang  syne" 

"  Farewell,  then,  Gabriella,  best  and  only  beloved  !  May  the 
hand  wither  that  ever  falls  too  heavily  on  that  trusting  heart, 
should  we  never  meet  again  ! " 

He  drew  me  suddenly  closely  to  him,  kissed  me  passionately, 
and  was  gone. 

"  Had  you  confided  in  me  fully,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  in 
speaking  to  me  afterwards  of  Richard,  "  I  should  never  have 

(221) 


222  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

advised  a  correspondence  which  must  have  strengthened  his  at 
tachmeut.  Having  the  highest  opinion  of  his  principles  and 
disposition,  and  believing  you  regarded  him  with  modest  affec- 
tion, I  urged  this  intercourse  as  a  binding  link  between  you. 
You  must  have  perceived  my  wishes  on  this  subject." 

"  If  I  have  erred,  it  was  from  mistaken  delicacy.  I  thought 
I  had  no  right  to  betray  an  unreturned  affection.  It  was  not 
from  a  want  of  confidence  in  you." 

"  If  you  could  have  loved  Richard,  it  would  have  been  well 
for  you,  my  dear  Gabriella ;  but  I  know  the  heart  admits  of  no 
coercion,  and  least  of  all  a  heart  like  yours.  I  no  longer  warn, 
for  it  is  in  vain  ;  but  I  would  counsel  and  instruct.  If  you  do 
become  the  wife  of  my  son,  you  will  assume  a  responsibility 
as  sacred  as  it  is  deep.  Not  alone  for  your  happiness  do  I 
tremble,  O  Gabriella,  —  I  fear,  —  I  dread,  for  him." 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Linwood,  when  I  love  him  so  exclusively,  so  de- 
votedly ;  when  I  feel  that  I  must  love  him  forever  — " 

"  It  is  the  very  exclusiveness  and  strength  of  your  devotion 
that  I  fear.  You  will  love  him  too  well  for  your  own  peace,  — 
too  well  for  his  good.  Far  better  is  a  rational,  steadfast  attach* 
ment,  that  neither  rises  above  the  worth  of  the  object,  nor 
sinks  below  it,  than  the  two  great  extremes,  idolatry  and  indif- 
ference. The  first  is  a  violation  of  the  commands  of  God,  — 
the  last,  of  the  rights  of  man.  Remember,  my  child,  that  it  is 
not  by  the  exhibition  of  idolatrous  affection,  that  a  wife  secures 
a  husband's  happiness.  It  is  by  patient  continuance  in  well- 
doing, that  she  works  out  the  salvation  of  her  wedded  peace. 
Sit  down  by  me,  Gabriella  ;  draw  up  your  work-table  ;  for  one 
can  listen  best  when  their  hands  are  busy.  I  have  a  great  deal 
that  I  wish  to  say,  and  I  cannot  talk  as  well  with  your  eyes 
bent  so  earnestly  on  me." 

I  obeyed  her  without  trepidation.  I  felt  the  need  of  her 
guiding  counsels,  and  resolved  to  lay  them  up  in  my  heart,  and 
make  them  the  rule  and  guide  of  my  life. 

u  When  a  young  girl  marries  a  man  whom  she  has  been 
taught  to  believe  perfection,"  continued  Mrs.  Linwood,  "  and 
after  marriage  discovers  her  golden  idol  to  be  an  image  of  wood 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  223 

and  clay,  she  may  be  permitted  to  sit  down  and  weep  a  while 
over  her  vanished  dreams.  But  when  she  knows  the  imper- 
fections of  him  she  loves  ;  when  she  knows  they  are  of  a  nature 
to  try,  as  with  sevenfold  heat,  the  strength  and  purity  of  her 
affection ;  when  with  this  conviction  she  breathes  her  wedded 
vows,  she  has  no  right  to  upbraid  him.  She  has  walked  with 
open  eyes  into  the  furnace,  and  she  must  not  shrink  from  the 
flames.  She  must  fold  over  her  woman's  heart  the  wings  of 
an  angel.  She  must  look  up  to  God,  and  be  silent." 

"  When  innocent  of  blame,  surely  she  should  defend  herself 
from  accusation,"  cried  I. 

"  Certainly,  —  in  the  spirit  of  gentleness  and  Christian  love. 
But  she  must  not  murmur ;  she  must  not  complain.  But  it  is 
not  the  accusation  that  admits  of  defence,  the  arrow  that  flies  at 
noonday,  that  is  most  to  be  feared.  It  is  the  cold,  inscrutable 
glance,  the  chilled  and  altered  manner,  the  suspicion  that  walk- 
eth  in  darkness,  —  it  is  these  that  try  the  strength  of  woman's 
love,  and  gnaw  with  slow  but  certain  tooth  the  cable-chain  that 
holds  the  anchor  of  her  fidelity.  These  are  the  evil  spirits 
which  prayer  and  fasting  alone  can  cast  out.  They  may  fly 
before  the  uplifted  eye  and  bended  knee,  but  never  before  the 
flash  of  anger  or  the  word  of  recrimination." 

"  What  a  solemn  view  you  give  me  of  married  life !  "  I  ex« 
claimed,  while  the  work  dropped  from  my  hands.  "  What 
fearful  responsibilities  you  place  before  me,  —  I  tremble,  I 
dare  not  meet  them." 

"  It  is  not  too  late,  —  the  irrevocable  vow  is  not  yet  breathed, 
—  the  path  is  not  yet  entered.  If  the  mere  description  of 
duties  makes  you  turn  pale  with  dread,  what  will  the  reality 
be  ?  I  do  not  seek  to  terrify,  but  to  convince.  I  received  you 
as  a  precious  charge  from  a  dying  mother,  and  I  vowed  over 
her  grave  to  love,  protect,  and  cherish  you,  as  my  own  daugh- 
ter. I  saw  the  peculiar  dangers  to  which  you  were  liable  from 
your  ardent  genius  and  exquisite  sensibility,  and  I  suffered  you 
to  pass  through  a  discipline  which  my  wealth  made  unneces- 
sary, and  which  you  have  nobly  borne.  I  did  not  wish  my  son 
to  love  you,  not  because  you  were  the  child  of  obscurity,  but 


224  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

because  I  had  constituted  myself  the  guardian  of  your  happi- 
ness, and  I  feared  it  would  be  endangered  by  a  union  with  him. 
How  dear  is  your  happiness  to  me,  —  how  holy  I  deem  the 
charge  I  have  assumed,  —  you  may  know  by  my  telling  you 
this.  Never  mother  idolized  a  son  as  I  do  Ernest.  He  is  pre- 
cious as  my  heart's  best  blood,  —  he  is  the  one  idol  that  cornea 
between  me  and  my  God.  My  love  is  more  intense  for  the 
anxiety  I  feel  on  his  account.  If  I  could  have  prevented  his 
loving;  —  but  how  could  I,  in  the  constant  presence  of  an 
object  so  formed  to  inspire  all  the  romance  of  love  ?  I  knew 
the  serpent  slept  in  the  bottom  of  the  fountain,  and  when  the 
waters  were  stirred  it  would  wake  and  uncoil.  Gabriella  !"  she 
added,  turning  towards  me,  taking  both  hands  in  hers,  and  look- 
ing me  in  the  face  with  her  clear,  eloquent,  dark  gray  eyes, 
"  you  may  be  the  angel  commissioned  by  Providence  to  work 
out  the  earthly  salvation  of  my  son,  to  walk  with  him  through 
the  fiery  furnace,  to  guard  him  in  the  lion's  den,  which  his  own.  pas- 
sions may  create.  If  to  the  love  that  hopeth  all,  the  faith  that 
believeth  all,  you  add  the  charity  that  endureth  all,  miracles 
may  follow  an  influence  so  exalted,  and,  I  say  it  with  reverence, 
eo  divine." 

It  is  impossible  to  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  power  of  Mrs. 
Linwood's  language  and  manner.  There  was  no  vehemence, 
no  gesticulation.  Her  eye  did  not  flash  or  sparkle ;  it  burned 
with  a  steady,  penetrating  light.  Her  voice  did  not  rise  in 
tone,  but  it  gave  utterance  to  her  words  in  a  full,  deep  stream 
of  thought,  inexhaustible  and  clear.  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
she  talked  "  like  a  book,"  and  so  she  did,  —  like  the  book  of 
heavenly  wisdom.  Her  sentiments  were  "  apples  of  gold  in 
pictures  of  silver,"  and  worthy  to  be  enshrined  in  a  diamond 
casket. 

As  I  listened,  I  caught  a  portion  of  her  sublime  spirit,  and 
felt  equal  to  the  duties  which  I  had  a  short  time  before  re- 
coiled from  contemplating. 

"  I  am  very  young  and  inexperienced,"  I  answered,  "  and  too 
apt  to  be  governed  by  the  impulses  of  the  present  moment.  1 
dare  not  promise  what  I  may  be  too  weak  to  perform  ;  but 


EBNEST     LIN  WOOD.  225 

dearest  madam,  all  that  a  feeble  girl,  strengthened  and  inspired 
ly  love,  and  leaning  humbly  on  an  Almighty  arm,  can  do,  I 
pledge  myself  to  do.  In  looking  forward  to  the  future,  I  have 
thought  almost  exclusively  of  being  ever  near  the  one  beloved 
object,  living  in  the  sunshine  of  his  smile,  and  drinking  in  the 
music  of  his  voice.  Life  seemed  an  elysian  dream,  from  which 
care  und  sorrow  must  be  for  ever  banished.  You  have  roused 
me  to  nobler  views,  and  given  existence  a  nobler  aim.  I  blush 
fcr  my  selfishness.  I  will  henceforth  think  less  of  being  happy 
myself,  than  of  making  others  happy ;  less  of  happiness  than 
duty  ;  and  every  sacrifice  that  principle  requires  shall  be  made 
light,  as  well  as  holy,  by  love." 

"  Only  cherish  such  feelings,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Limvood, 
warmly  embracing  me,  "  and  you  will  be  the  daughter  of  my 
choice,  as  well  as  my  adoption.  My  blessing,  and  the  blessing 
of  approving  God,  will  be  yours.  The  woman,  who  limits  her 
ambition  to  the  triumphs  of  beauty  and  the  influence  of  personal 
fascination,  receives  the  retribution  of  her  folly  and  her  sin  in 
the  coldness  and  alienation  of  her  husband,  and  the  indifference, 
if  not  the  contempt  of  the  world.  She,  whose  highest  aim  is 
intellectual  power,  will  make  her  home  like  the  eyrie  of  the 
eagle,  lofty,  but  bleak.  While  she,  whose  affections  alone  are 
the  foundation  of  her  happiness,  will  find  that  the  nest  of  the 
dove,  though  pleasant  and  downy  in  the  sunshine,  will  furnish 
no  shelter  from  the  fierce  storms  and  tempestuous  winds  of 
life." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Linwood !  Is  domestic  happiness  a  houseless 
wanderer  ?  Has  it  no  home  on  earth  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  love,  in  the  heart  of  the  woman  whose  highest 
aim  is  the  glory  of  God,  —  whose  next,  the  excellence  and  hap- 
piness of  her  husband ;  who  considei's  her  talents,  her  affec- 
tions, and  her  beauty  as  gifts  from  the  Almighty  hand,  for  whose 
use  she  must  one  day  render  an  account ;  whose  heart  is  a 
censer  where  holy  incense  is  constantly  ascending,  perfuming 
ar,d  sanctifying  the  atmosphere  of  home.  Such  is  the  woman 
who  pleasefh  the  Lord.  Such,  I  trust,  will  be  my  beloved 
Gabriella." 


226  ERNEST     LIN-WOOD. 

By  conversations  like  these,  almost  daily  renewed,  did  this 
admirable,  high-minded,  and  God-fearing  woman  endeavor  to 
prepare  me  for  the  exalted  position  to  which  love  had  raised 
me.  This  was  a  happy  period  of  my  life.  The  absence  of 
Richard  Clyde,  though  a  source  of  regret,  was  a  great  blessing, 
as  it  removed  the  most  prominent  object  of  jealousy  from 
Ernest's  path.  An  occasional  cloud,  a  sudden  coldness,  and  an 
unaccountable  reserve,  sometimes  reminded  me  of  the  danger- 
ous passion  whose  shadow  too  often  follows  the  footsteps  of 
love.  But  in  the  retirement  of  rural  life,  surrounded  by  the 
sweet,  pure  influences  of  nature,  the  best  elements  of  character 
were  called  into  exercise. 

The  friends  whom  Mrs.  Linwood  gathered  around  her  were 
not  the  idle  devotees  of  fashion,  —  the  parasites  of  wealth  j 
but  intelligent,  literary  people,  whose  society  was  a  source  of 
improvement  as  well  as  pleasure.  Sometimes,  circumstances  of 
commanding  character  forced  her  to  receive  as  guests  those 
whom  her  judgment  would  never  have  selected,  as  in  the  case 
of  Madge  Wildfire;  but  in  general  it  was  a  distinction  to  bo 
invited  to  Grandison  Place,  whose  elegant  hospitalities  were  the 
boast  of  the  town  to  which  it  belonged. 

The  only  drawback  to  my  happiness  was  the  pen?iveness  that 
hung  like  a  soft  cloud  over  the  spirits  of  Edith.  She  was  still 
kind  and  affectionate  to  me ;  but  the  sweet  unreserve  of  former 
intercourse  was  gone.  I  had  come  between  her  and  her 
brother's  heart.  I  was  the  shadow  on  her  dial  of  flowers,  that 
made  their  bloom  wither.  I  never  walked  with  Ernest  alone 
without  fearing  to  give  her  pain.  I  never  sat  with  him  on  the 
seat  beneath  the  elm,  in  the  starry  eventide,  or  at  moonlight's 
hour,  without  feeling  that  she  followed  us  in  secret  with  a  sad- 
dened glance. 

At  first,  whenever  he  came  to  me  to  walk  with  him,  I  would 
say,  — 

"  Wait  till  I  go  for  Edith." 

"  Very  well,"  he  would  answer,  "  if  there  is  nothing  in  your 
heart  that  pleads  for  a  nearer  communion  than  that  which  we 


EENEST     LINWOOD.  227 

enjoy  in  the  presence  of  others,  a  dearer  interchange  of  thought 
and  feeling,  let  Edith,  let  the  whole  world  come." 

"  It  is  for  her  sake,  not  mine,  I  speak,  —  I  cannot  bear  the 
soft  reproach  of  her  loving  eye  ! " 

a  A  sister's  affection  must  not  be  too  exacting,"  was  the  reply 
u  All  that  the  fondest  brother  can  bestow,  I  give  to  Edith  ;  but 
there  are  gifts  she  may  not  share,  —  an  inner  temple  she  can- 
not enter,  —  reserved  alone  for  you.  Come,  the  flowers  are 
wasting  their  fragrance,  the  stars  their  lustre  !  " 

How  could  I  plead  for  Edith,  after  being  silenced  by  such 
arguments  ?  And  how  could  I  tell  her  that  I  had  interceded 
for  her  in  vain  ?  I  never  imagined  before  that  a  sister's  love 
could  be  jealous  ;  but  the  same  hereditary  passion  which  was 
transmitted  to  his  bosom  through  a  father's  blood,  reigned  in 
hers,  though  in  a  gentler  form. 

Every  one  who  has  studied  human  nature  must  have  observed 
predominant  family  traits,  as  marked  as  the  attributes  of  differ- 
ent trees  and  blossoms,  —  traits  which,  descending  from  parent 
to  children,  individualize  them  from  the  great  family  of  man- 
kind. In  some,  pride  towers  and  spreads  like  the  great  grove 
tree  of  India,  the  branches  taking  root  and  forming  trunks 
which  put  forth  a  wealth  of  foliage,  rank  and  unhealthy.  In 
others,  obstinacy  plants  itself  like  a  rock,  which  the  winds  and 
waves  of  opinion  cannot  move.  In  a  few,  jealousy  coils  itself 
with  lengthening  fold,  which,  like  the  serpent  that  wrapped  it- 
self round  Laocoon  and  his  sons,  makes  parents  and  children  its 
unhappy  victims. 

And  so  it  is  with  the  virtues,  which,  thanks  be  to  God,  who 
setteth  the  solitary  in  families,  are  also  hereditary.  How  often 
do  we  hear  it  said,  —  "  She  is  lovely,  charitable,  and  pious,  — 
BO  was  her  mother  before  her ; "  "  He  is  an  upright  and  honor- 
able man,  —  he  came  from  a  noble  stock."  "  That  youth  has  a 
sacred  love  of  truth,  —  it  is  his  best  inheritance,  —  his  father's 
word  was  equivalent  to  his  bond." 

If  this  be  true,  it  shows  the  duty  of  parents  in  an  awfully 
commanding  manner.     Let  them  rend  out  the  eye  that  givea 
dark  and  distorted  views  of  God  and  man.     Let  them  cut  off 
15 


228  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

the  hand  that  offends  and  the  foot  that  errs,  rather  than  entail 
on  others  evils,  which  all  eternity  cannot  remedy.  Better  trans- 
mit to  posterity  the  blinded  eye,  the  maimed  and  halting  foot, 
that  knows  the  narrow  path  to  eternal  life,  than  the  dark  pas- 
sions that  desolate  earth,  and  unfit  the  soul  for  the  joys  of 
heaven. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

I  HAVE  now  arrived  at  a  period  in  my  life,  at  which  the  nov« 
elist  would  pause,  —  believing  the  history  of  woman  ceases  to 
interest  as  soon  as  an  accepted  lover  and  consenting  friends  ap- 
pear ready  to  usher  the  heroine  into  the  temple  of  Hymen.  But 
there  is  a  life  within  life,  which  is  never  revealed  till  it  is  inter- 
twined with  another's.  In  the  depth  of  the  heart  there  is  a  lower 
deep,  which  is  never  sounded  save  by  the  hand  that  wears  the 
wedding-ring.  There  is  a  talisman  in  its  golden  circle,  more 
powerful  than  those  worn  by  the  genii  of  the  East. 

I  love  to  linger  among  the  beautiful  shades  of  Grandison 
Place,  to  wander  over  its  velvet  lawn,  its  gravel  walks,  its  wind- 
ing avenues,  to  gaze  on  the  lovely  valley  its  height  commanded 
whether  in  the  intense  lights  and  strong  shadows  of  downward 
day,  or  the  paler  splendor  and  deeper  shadows  of  moonlit  night. 
I  love  those  girdling  mountains, —  grand  winding  stairs  of  heaven. 
—  on  which  my  spirit  has  so  often  climbed,  then  stepping  to  the 
clouds,  looked  through  their  "  golden  vistas  "  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  upper  world. 

O  thou  charming  home  of  my  youth  what  associations 
cluster  round  thee  !  Thy  noble  trees  rustle  their  green  leaves 
in  the  breezes  of  memory.  Thy  moonlight  walks  are  trodden 
by  invisible  footsteps.  Would  I  had  never  left  thee,  Paradise 
of  my  heart !  Would  I  had  never  tasted  the  fruit  of  the  tree 
of  knowledge,  which,  though  golden  to  the  eye,  turns  to  ashes 
on  the  lips ! 

When  Ernest  urged  me  to  appoint  a  period  for  our  marriage, 
I  was  startled  —  alarmed.  I  thought  not  of  hastening  to  my 

(229* 


230  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

destiny  quite  so  soon.  I  was  too  young.  I  must  wait  at  least 
two  years  before  assuming  the  responsibilities  of  a  wife. 

"  Two  years  !  —  two  centuries ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why 
should  we  wait  ?  I  have  wealth,  which  woos  you  to  enjoy  it. 
I  have  arrived  at  the  fulness  of  manhood,  and  you  are  in  the 
rosetime  of  your  life.  Why  should  we  wait?  For  circum- 
stances to  divide,  —  for  time  to  chill,  —  or  death  to  destroy  ? 
No,  no  ;  when  you  gave  me  your  heart,  you  gave  me  yourself ; 
and  I  claim  you  as  my  own,  without  formal  scruples  or  unneces- 
sary delay." 

Mrs.  Linwood  exerted  all  her  eloquence  with  her  son  to  in 
duce  him  to  defer  the  union  at  least  one  year,  till  I  had  seen 
something  of  the  world,  —  till  I  was  better  acquainted  with  my 
own  heart. 

"  Yes !  wait  till  she  loses  the  freshness  and  simplicity  that 
won  me,  —  the  sweetness  and  ingenuousness  that  enchained 
me  ! "  he  cried  impetuously.  "  Wait  till  she  has  been  flattered 
and  spoiled  by  a  vain  and  deceiving  world ;  till  she  learns  to 
prize  the  admiration  of  many  better  than  the  true  love  of  one ; 
till  she  becomes  that  tinsel  thing  my  soul  abhors,  a  false  and 
worldly  woman.  No !  give  her  to  me  now,"  he  added,  clasping 
me  to  his  heart  with  irresistible  tenderness  and  passion.  "  Give 
her  to  me  now,  in  the  bloom  of  her  innocence,  the  flower  of  her 
youth,  and  I  will  enshrine  her  in  my  heart  as  in  a  crystal  vase, 
which  they  must  break  to  harm  her." 

The  strong  love  and  the  strong  will  united  were  not  to  be  op- 
posed. Mrs.  Linwood  was  forced  to  yield  ;  and  when  once  her 
consent  was  given,  mine  was  supposed  to  be  granted.  She 
wished  the  wedding  to  be  consummated  in  the  city,  in  a  stylo 
consistent  with  his  splendid  fortune,  and  then  our  rank  in  so- 
ciety ;  and  therefore  proposed  the  first  month  in  winter,  when 
they  usually  took  possession  of  their  habitation  in  town. 

lie  objected  to  this  with  all  the  earnestness  of  which  he  was 
master.  It  was  sacrilege,  he  said,  to  call  in  a  gazing  world,  to 
make  a  mockery  of  the  holiest  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  to 
crush  under  an  icy  mountain  of  ceremony  the  spontaneous 
flowers  of  nature  and  of  love.  He  detested  fashionable  crowds 


ERNEST    UN  WOOD.  231 

on  any  occasion,  and  most  of  all  on  this.  Let  it  be  at  Grandi- 
son  Place,  the  cradle  of  his  love,  in  the  glorious  time  or  the 
harvest-moon,  that  mellow,  golden  season,  when  the  earth 
wraps  herself  as  the 

"  Sacred  bride  of  heaven, 
Worthy  the  passion  of  a  God." 

So  entirely  did  I  harmonize  with  him  in  his  preference  foi 
Grandison  Place,  that  I  was  willing  the  time  should  be  antici- 
pated, for  the  sake  of  the  retirement  and  tranquillity  secured. 

Madge  Wildfire  had  returned  to  the  city,  declaring  that 
lovers  were  the  most  selfish  and  insipid  people  in  the  world,  — 
that  she  was  tired  of  flirting  with  Ursa  Major,  as  she  called 
Mr.  Regulus,  —  tired  of  teazing  Dr.  Harlowe,  —  tired  of  the 
country  and  of  herself. 

The  night  before  she  left,  she  came  to  me  in  quite  a  subdued 
mood. 

"  I  am  really  sorry  you  are  going  to  be  married,"  she  cried. 
"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  not  put  on  chains  before  I  had  tasted 
the  sweets  of  liberty.  Only  think,  you  have  not  come  out  yet, 
as  the  protegee  of  the  rich,  the  aristocratic  Mrs.  Linwood. 
What  a  sensation  you  would  make  in  Boston  next  winter  if  you 
had  sense  enough  to  preserve  your  freedom.  Ernest  Linwood 
knows  well  enough  what  he  is  about,  when  he  hastens  the 
wedding  so  vehemently.  He  knows,  if  you  once  go  into  the 
world,  you  will  be  surrounded  by  admirers  who  may  eclipse 
and  supplant  him.  But  I  tell  thee  one  thing,  my  dear  creature, 
you  will  have  no  chance  to  shine  as  a  belle,  as  the  wife  of 
Ernest.  If  he  does  not  prove  a  second  Bluebeard,  my  name  is 
not  Meg  the  Dauntless." 

"I  detest  a  married  belle,"  I  answered  with  warmth.  "  The 
woman  who  aims  at  such  a  distinction  is  false,  heartless,  and 
unprincipled.  I  would  bless  the  watching  love  that  shielded 
me  from  a  name  so  odious." 

"  It  is  a  mighty  fine  thing  to  be  loved,  I  suppose,"  said  Meg 
with  a  resounding  laugh,  "but  I  know  nothing  about  it  and 
never  shall.  Mamma  and  Mrs.  Linwood  are  great  friends,  you 


232  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

know,  or  have  been  ;  and  mamma  thought  it  would  be  won- 
drous fine  for  young  Miss  Hopeful  to  captivate  Mr.  Splendidus. 
But  he  did  not  take.  I  did  not  suit  his  delicate  nerves.  Well, 
I  wish  you  joy,  my  precious  soul.  He  loves  you,  there  is  no 
doubt  of  that.  He  never  sees,  never  looks  at  any  one  else.  If 
you  speak,  he  is  all  ear ;  if  you  move,  all  eye.  I  wonder  how 
it  will  be  a  year  hence,  —  ha,  ha !  " 

Her  laugh  grated  on  my  nerves,  but  I  concealed  the  irrita- 
tion it  caused,  for  it  was  useless  to  be  angry  with  Meg.  She 
must  have  had  a  heart,  for  she  was  a  woman,  but  the  avenue 
to  it  was  impervious.  It  was  still  an  untravelled  wilderness,  and 
bold  must  be  the  explorer  who  dared  to  penetrate  its  luxuriant 
depths. 

Circumstances  connected  with  the  property  bequeathed  by 
his  uncle,  made  it  indispensable  that  Ernest  should  be  in  New 
York  the  coming  winter ;  and  he  made  arrangements  to  pass 
our  first  bridal  season  in  the  great  empire  city.  He  wrote  to  a 
friend  resident  there,  to  engage  a  house  and  have  it  furnished 
for  our  reception. 

"  For  never,"  said  he,  "  will  I  carry  bride  of  mine,  to  make 
her  home  in  a  fashionable  hotel.  I  would  as  soon  plunge  her 
in  the  roaring  vortex  on  Norway's  coast." 

"  And  must  we  be  separated  from  your  mother  and  Edith  ?  " 
I  asked,  trembling  at  the  thought  of  being  removed  from  Mrs. 
Linwood's  maternal  counsels  and  cares ;  "  will  they  not  share 
our  bridal  home  ?  " 

"I  would  have  the  early  days  of  our  married  life  sacred 
even  from  their  participation,"  he  answered,  with  that  eloquence 
of  the  eye  which  no  woman's  heart  could  resist.  "I  would 
have  my  wife  learn  to  rely  on  me  alone  for  happiness  ;  —  to  find 
in  my  boundless  devotion,  my  unutterable  love,  an  equivalent 
for  all  she  is  called  upon  to  resign.  If  she  cannot  consent  to 
this,  no  spark  from  heaven  has  kindled  the  flame  of  the  altar ; 
the  sacrifice  is  cold,  and  unworthy  of  acceptance." 

"  For  myself,  I  ask  nothing,  wish  for  nothing  but  your  com 
panionship,"  I  answered,  with  the  fervor  of  truth  and  youth 
"  but  I  was  thinking  of  them,  whom  I  shah1  rob  of  a  son  and 
brother  so  inexpressibly  dear.' 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  233 

u  We  shall  meet  next  summer  in  these  lovely  shades.  We 
shall  all  be  happy  together  once  more.  In  the  mean  time,  all  the 
elegancies  and  luxuries  that  love  can  imagine  and  wealth  sup- 
ply shall  be  yours,  — 

"  Nay,  dearest,  nay,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me  paint 
The  home  to  which,  if  love  fulfils  its  prayers, 
This  hand  would  lead  thee,  listen,"  — 

And  taking  me  by  the  hand,  he  led  me  out  into  the  beautiful 
avenue  in  which  we  had  so  often  wandered,  and  continued,  in  the 
•words  of  that  charming  play  which  he  had  read  aloud  in  the 
early  days  of  our  acquaintance,  with  a  thrilling  expression 
which  none  but  himself  could  give  — 

"  We  '11  have  no  friends 
That  are  not  lovers  ;  no  ambition,  save 
To  excel  them  all  in  love  ;  we  '11  read  no  books 
That  are  not  tales  of  love  ;  that  we  may  smile 
To  think  how  poorly  eloquence  of  words 
Translates  the  poetry  of  hearts  like  ours ! 
And  when  night  comes,  amidst  the  breathless  heavens, 
We  '11  guess  what  star  shall  be  our  home  when  love 
Becomes  immortal ;  while  the  perfumed  light 
Steals  through  the  mists  of  alabaster  lamps, 
And  every  air  be  heavy  with  the  sighs 
Of  orange  groves,  and  music  from  sweet  lutes, 
And  murmurs  of  low  fountains,  that  gush  forth 
F  the  midst  of  roses  !  " 

"  Dost  thou  like  the  picture  ?  " 

How  could  I  help  answering,  in  the  words  of  the  impassioned 
Pauline,  — 

"  Was  ever  young  imaginative  girl  wooed  in  strains  of  sweeter 
romance  ?  " 

Was  there  ever  a  fairer  prospect  of  felicity,  if  love,  pure, 
intense  love,  constitutes  the  happiness  of  wedded  life  ? 

I  will  not  swell  these  pages  by  describing  the  village  wonder 
and  gossip,  when  it  was  known  that  the  orphan  girl  of  the  old 
gray  cottage  was  exalted  to  so  splendid  a  destiny ;  nor  the  con- 


234  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

gratulations  of  friends ;  the  delight  and  exultation  of  Dr.  Ilar- 
lowe,  who  said  he  had  discovered  it  all  by  my  pulse  long  before  ; 
nor  the  deeply  interesting  and  characteristic  scene  with  Mr. 
Regulus ;  nor  the  parting  interview  with  Mrs.  Linwood  and 
Edith. 

Yes,  I  will  give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  last  hour  spent  with 
Edith,  the  night  before  the  wedding.  We  were  to  be  married 
in  the  morning,  and  immediately  commence  our  bridal  journey 

Edith  had  never  alluded  to  her  own  feelings  respecting  her 
brother's  marriage,  since  the  evening  of  the  only  misunderstand- 
ing we  ever  had  in  our  sisterly  intercourse ;  and  it  was  a  sub- 
ject I  could  not  introduce.  The  delicate,  gauzy  reserve  in 
which  she  enfolded  herself  was  as  impenetrable  to  me  as  an 
ancient  warrior's  armor. 

Now,  when  the  whole  household  was  wrapped  in  silence,  and 
the  lamps  extinguished,  and  I  sat  in  my  night  robe  in  the  recess 
of  the  window,  she  came  and  sat  down  beside  me.  We  could 
see  each  other's  faces  by  the  silver  starlight.  It  glittered  on 
the  tear  drops  in  the  eyes  of  both.  I  put  my  arms  around  her, 
and,  laying  my  head  on  her  bosom,  poured  out  all  the  love, 
gratitude,  and  affection  with  which  my  full  heart  was  burdened. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  beloved  Gabriella,"  she  cried,  "  my  ap- 
parent coldness  and  estrangement.  On  my  knees  I  have  asked 
forgiveness  of  my  heavenly  Father.  With  my  arms  round 
your  neck,  and  your  heart  next  mine,  I  ask  forgiveness  of  you. 
Try  not  to  think  less  of  me  for  the  indulgence  of  a  too  selfish 
and  exacting  spirit,  but  remember  me  as  the  poor  little  cripple, 
who  for  years  found  her  brother's  arm  her  strength  and  her 
stay,  and  learned  to  look  up  to  him  as  the  representative  of 
Providence,  as  the  protecting  angel  of  her  life.  Only  make 
him  happy,  my  own  dear  sister,  and  I  will  yield  him,  not  to  your 
stronger,  but  your  equal  love.  His  only  fault  is  loving  you  too 
well,  in  depreciating  too  much  his  own  transcendent  powers. 
You  cannot  help  being  happy  with  him,  with  a  being  so  noble 
and  refined.  If  he  ever  wounds  you  by  suspicion  and  jealousy^ 
bear  all,  and  forgive  all,  for  the  sake  of  lus  exceeding  love,— 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  235 

for  my  sake,  Gabriella,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  dear  Redeemer 
who  died  for  love  of  you." 

Dear,  lovely,  angelic  Edith  !  noble,  inestimable  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood  !  —  dearly  beloved  home  of  my  orphan  years,  —  grave  of 
my  mother,  farewell! 

Farewell !  —  the  bride  of  Ernest  must  not,  cannot  weep. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THK  earl?  portion  of  my  married  life  was  more  like  a  dream 
of  heaven  tf.an  a  reality  of  earth.  All,  and  more  than  I  had 
ever  imagined  of  wedded  happiness,  I  realized.  The  intimate 
and  constant  companionship  of  such  a  being  as  Ernest,  so  intel- 
lectual, so  refined,  so  highly  gifted,  so  loving  and  impassioned, 
was  a  privilege  beyond  the  common  destiny  of  women.  A 
hundred  times  I  said  to  myself  in  the  exultant  consciousness  of 

j°y,— 

"  How  little  his  mother  knows  him !  The  jealousy  of  the 
lover  has  yielded  to  the  perfect  confidence  of  the  husband. 
Our  hearts  are  now  too  closely  entwined  for  the  shadow  of  a 
cloud  to  pass  between  them.  He  says  himself,  that  it  would  be 
impossible  ever  to  doubt  a  love  so  pure  and  so  entire  as  mine." 

Our  home  was  as  retired  as  it  was  possible  to  be  in  the  heart 
of  a  great  metropolis.  It  was  near  one  of  those  beautiful 
parks  which  in  summer  give  such  an  aspect  of  life  and  purity 
to  surrounding  objects,  with  their  grassy  lawns,  graceful  shade 
trees,  and  fountains  of  silvery  brightness  playing  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  diffusing  such  a  cool,  delicious  atmosphere,  in  the 
midst  of  heat,  dust,  and  confusion.  In  winter,  even,  these 
parks  give  inexpressible  relief  to  the  eye,  and  freedom  to  the 
mind,  that  shrinks  from  the  compression  of  high  brick  walls, 
and  longs  for  a  more  expanded  view  of  the  heavens  than  can  be 
obtained  through  turreted  roofs,  that  seem  to  meet  as  they 
tower. 

It  made  but  little  difference  to  me  now,  for  my  heaven  was 
within.  The  external  world,  of  which  I  believed  myself 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  237 

wholly  independent,  seemed  but  a  shejl  enclosing  the  rich- 
ness and  fragrance  of  our  love.  The  luxuries  and  elegan- 
cies of  my  own  home  were  prized  chiefly  as  proofs  of  Ernest's 
watchful  and  generous  love. 

The  friend  to  whom  he  had  written  to  prepare  a  residence, 
was  fortunate  in  securing  one  which  he  believed  exactly  suited 
to  his  fastidious  and  classic  taste.  A  gentleman  of  fortune  had 
just  completed  and  furnished  an  elegant  establishment,  when  un- 
expected circumstances  compelled  him  to  leave  his  country  to 
be  absent  several  years. 

I  do  not  think  Ernest  would  have  fitted  up  our  bridal  home 
in  so  showy  and  magnificent  a  style  ;  but  his  love  for  the  beauti- 
ful and  graceful  was  gratified,  and  he  was  pleased  with  my 
enthusiastic  admiration  and  delight. 

I  sometimes  imagined  myself  in  an  enchanted  palace,  when 
wandering  through  the  splendid  suite  of  apartments  adorned 
with  such  oriental  luxury.  The  gentleman  whose  taste  had 
presided  over  the  building  of  the  mansion,  had  travelled  all 
over  Europe,  and  passed  several  years  in  the  East.  He  had 
brought  home  with  him  the  richest  and  rarest  models  of  Eastern 
architecture,  and  fashioned  his  own  mansion  after  them.  Er- 
nest had  not  purchased  it,  for  the  owner  was  not  willing  to  sell ; 
he  was  anxious,  however,  to  secure  occupants  who  would  appre- 
ciate its  elegance,  and  guard  it  from  injury. 

Ah  !  little  did  I  think  when  eating  my  bread  and  milk  from 
the  china  bowl  bordered  by  flowers,  when  a  silver  spoon 
seemed  something  grand  and  massy  in  the  midst  of  general 
poverty,  that  I  should  ever  be  the  mistress  of  such  a  magnifi- 
cent mansion.  I  had  thought  Grandison  Place  luxuriously 
elegant;  but  what  was  it  compared  to  this?  How  shall  I  begin 
to  describe  it  ?  or  shall  I  describe  it  at  all  ?  I  always  like 
myself  to  know  how  to  localize  a  friend,  to  know  their  sur- 
roundings and  realities,  and  all  that  fills  up  the  picture  of  their 
life.  A  friend  i  Have  I  made  friends  of  my  readers  ?  I  trust 
there  are  some  who  have  followed  the  history  of  Gabrielia 
Lynn  with  sufficient  interest,  to  wish  to  learn  something  of  her 
experience  of  the  married  life. 


238  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

Come,  then,  with  me,  and  I  will  devote  this  chapter  to  a 
palace,  which  might  indeed  fulfil  the  prayers  of  the  most 
princely  love. 

This  beautiful  apartment,  adorned  with  paintings  and  statues 
of  the  most  exquisite  workmanship,  is  a  reception  room,  from 
which  you  enter  the  pai'lor  and  find  yourself  winding  through 
fluted  pillars  of  ingrained  marble,  from  the  centre  of  which 
curtains  of  blue  and  silver,  sweeping  back  and  wreathing  the 
columns,  form  an  arch  beneath  which  queens  might  be  proud  to 
walk.  The  walls  are  glittering  with  silver  and  blue,  and  all 
the  decorations  of  the  apartment  exhibit  the  same  beautiful 
union.  The  ceiling  above  is  painted  in  fresco,  where  cherubs, 
lovely  as  the  dream  of  love,  spread  their  wings  of  silvery  tinted 
azure  and  draw  their  fairy  bows. 

Passing  through  this  glittering  colonnade  into  a  kind  of  airy 
room,  you  pause  on  the  threshold,  imagining  yourself  in  t, 
fairy  grotto.  "We  will  suppose  it  moonlight ;  for  it  was  by  moon- 
light I  first  beheld  this  enchanting  scene.  We  arrived  at  night, 
and  Ernest  conducted  me  himself  through  a  home  which  ap- 
peared to  me  more  like  a  dream  of  the  imagination  than  a  cre- 
ation of  man.  I  saw  that  he  was  surprised  ;  that  he  was  unpre- 
pared for  such  elaborate  splendor.  He  had  told  his  friend  to 
spare  no  expense ;  but  he  was  not  aware  that  any  one  had 
introduced  such  Asiatic  magnificence  into  our  cities.  I  believe 
I  will  describe  my  own  first  impressions,  instead  of  anticipating 
yours. 

The  mellowness  of  autumn  still  lingered  in  the  atmosphere, 
. —  for  the  season  of  the  harvest-moon  is  the  most  beautiful  in 
the  world.  The  glorious  orb  illumined  the  fairy  grotto  with  a 
radiance  as  intense  as  the  noonday  sun's.  It  clothed  the  pol- 
ished whiteness  of  the  marble  statues  with  a  drapery  of  silver, 
sparkled  on  the  fountain's  tossing  wreaths,  converted  the  spray 
that  rose  from  the  bosom  of  the  marble  basin  below  into  a  deli- 
cate web  of  silver  lace-work,  and  its  beams,  reflected  from  walls 
of  looking-glass,  multiplied,  to  apparent  infinity,  fountains, 
statues,  trees,  and  flowers,  till  my  dazzled  eyes  could  scarcely 
distinguish  the  shadow  from  the  substance.  The  air  was  per- 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  239 

fumed  with  the  delicious  odor  of  tropic  blossoms,  and  filled  with 
the  sweet  murmurs  of  the  gushing  fountain. 

"  Oh  !  how  beautiful !  how  enchanting  !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  an 
ecstasy  of  admiration.  "  This  must  be  ideal.  Reality  never 
presented  any  thing  so  brilliant,  so  exquisite  as  this.  Oh, 
Ernest,  surely  this  is  a  place  to  dream  of,  not  a  home  to  live 
in?" 

"  It  does,  indeed,"  he  answered,  "  transcend  my  expectations  ; 
but  if  it  pleases  your  eye,  Gabriella,  it  cannot  go  beyond  my 
wishes." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  delights  my  eye,  but  my  heart  asked  nothing  but 
you.  I  fear  you  will  never  know  how  well  I  love  you,  in  the 
midst  of  such  regal  splendor.  If  you  ever  doubt  me,  Ernest, 
take  me  to  that  island  home  you  once  described,  and  you  will 
there  learn  that  on  you,  and  you  alone,  I  rely  for  happiness." 

He  believed  me.  I  knew  he  did  ;  for  he  drew  me  to  his  bosom, 
and  amid  a  thousand  endearing  protestations,  told  me  he  did 
not  believe  it  pocsible  ever  to  doubt  a  love,  whu-h  irradiated 
me  at  that  moment,  as  the  moon  did  the  Fairy  Grotto. 

He  led  me  around  the  marble  basin  that  received  the  wa- 
ters of  the  fountain,  and  which  was  margined  by  sea-shells, 
from  which  luxuriant  flowers  were  gushing,  and  explained 
the  beautiful  figures  standing  so  white,  so  "  coldly  sweet,  so 
deadly  fair,"  in  the  stilly  and  solemn  moonlight.  I  knew  the 
history  of  each  statue  as  he  named  them,  but  I  questioned  him, 
that  I  might  have  the  delight  of  hearing  his  charming  and  poetic 
descriptions. 

"  Is  this  a  daughter  of  Danaus  ?  "  I  asked,  stopping  before  a 
young  and  exquisitely  lovely  female,  holding  up  to  the  fountain 
an  urn,  through  whose  perforated  bottom  the  waters  seemed 
eternally  dripping. 

"  It  is." 

"  Is  it  Hypermestra,  the  only  one  of  all  the  fifty  who  had  a 
woman's  heart,  punished  by  her  father  for  rescuing  her  husband 
from  the  awful  doom  which  her  obedient  sisters  so  cruelly  in- 
flicted on  theirs." 

MI  believe  it  is  one  of  the  savage  forty -nine,  who  were  con- 


40  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

iemned  by  the  judges  of  the  infernal  regions  to  fill  bottomless 
vessels  with  water,  through  the  unending  days  of  eternity.  She 
does  not  look  much  like  a  bride  of  blood,  does  she,  with  that 
face  of  softly  flowing  contour,  and  eye  of  patient  anguish  ?  I 
suppose  filial  obedience  was  considered  a  more  divine  virtue 
than  love,  or  the  artist  would  not  thus  have  beautified  and  ideal- 
ized one  of  the  most  revolting  characters  in  mythology.  I  do 
not  like  to  dwell  on  this  image.  It  represents  woman  in  too 
detestable  a  light.  May  we.  not  be  pardoned  for  want  of  implicit 
faith  in  her  angelic  nature,  when  such  examples  are  recorded  of 
her  perfidy  and  heartiessness  ?  " 

"  But  she  is  a  fabulous  being,  Ernest." 

"  Fables  have  their  origin  in  truth,  my  Gabriella.  Cannot 
you  judge,  by  the  shadow,  of  the  form  that  casts  it?  The  my- 
thology of  Greece  and  Rome  shows  what  estimate  was  placed  on 
human  character  at  the  time  it  was  written.  The  attributes  of 
men  and  women  were  ascribed  to  gods  and  goddesses,  and  by 
their  virtues  and  crimes  we  may  judge  of  the  moral  tone  of 
ancient  society.  Had  there  been  no  perfidious  wives,  the  daugh- 
ters of  Danaus  had  never  been  born  of  the  poet's  brain,  and 
embodied  by  the  sculptor's  hand.  Had  woman  always  been  as 
true  as  she  is  fair,  Venus  had  never  risen  from  the  i'oam  of  im- 
agination, or  floated  down  the  tide  of  time  in  her  dove-drawn 
car,  giving  to  mankind  an  image  of  beauty  and  frailty  that  is 
dilficult  for  him  to  separate,  so  closely  are  they  intertwined." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  reproachfully,  "  and  had  woman  never  been 
forsaken  and  betrayed,  we  should  never  have  heard  of  the  fair, 
deserted  Ariadne,  or  the  beautiful  and  avenging  Medea.  Had 
man  never  been  false  to  his  vows,  we  should  never  have  been 
told  of  the  jealous  anger  of  Juno,  or  the  poisoned  garment  pre- 
pared by  the  hapless  Dejaruira.  Ah !  this  is  lovely  !  " 

"  Do  you  not  recognize  a  similitude  to  the  flower-girl  of  the 
library  ?  This  is  Flora  herself,  whose  marble  hands  are  drip- 
ping with  flowers,  and  whose  lips,  white  and  voiceless  as  they 
are,  are  wearing  the  sweetness  and  freshness  of  eternal  youth. 
Do  you  not  trace  a  resemblance  to  yourself  in  those  pure  and 
graceful  features,  which,  even  in  marble,  breathe  the  eloquence 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  24] 

of   love  ?      How   charmingly  the  moonbeams  play  upon  her 
brow  !  how  lovingly  they  linger  on  her  neck  of  snow  ! " 

He  paused,  while  the  murmurs  of  the  fountain  seemed  to 
swell  to  supply  the  music  of  his  voice.  Then  he  passed  on  to 
a  lovely  Bachanter  with  ivy  and  vine  wreaths  on  her  clustering 
locks,  to  a  Hebe  catching  crystal  drops  instead  of  nectar  in  her 
lifted  cup ;  and  then  we  turned  and  looked  at  all  these  classic 
figures  reflected  in  the  mural  mirrors  and  at  the  myriad  foun- 
tains tossing  their  glittering  wreaths,  and  at  the  myriad  basins 
receiving  the  cooling  showers. 

"  I  only  regret,"  said  Ernest,  "  that  I  had  not  designed  all 
this  expressly  for  your  enjoyment ;  that  the  taste  of  another 
furnished  the  banquet  at  which  your  senses  are  now  revelling." 

"  But  I  owe  it  all  to  you.  You  might  as  well  sigh  to  be  the 
sculptor  of  the  statues,  the  Creator  of  the  flowers.  Believe 
me,  I  am  sufficiently  grateful.  My  heart  could  not  bear  a 
greater  burden  of  gratitude." 

"  Gratitude  ! "  he  repeated,  "  Gabriella,  as  you  value  my 
love,  never  speak  to  me  of  gratitude.  It  is  the  last  feeling  I 
wish  to  inspire.  It  may  be  felt  for  a  benefactor,  a  superior, 
but  not  a  lover  and  a  husband." 

"  But  when  all  these  characters  are  combined  in  one,  what 
language  can  we  use  to  express  the  full,  abounding  heart? 
Methinks  mine  cannot  contain,  even  now,  the  emotions  that 
swell  it  almost  to  suffocation.  I  am  not  worthy  of  so  much 
happiness.  It  is  greater  than  I  can  bear." 

I  leaned  my  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  tears  and  smiles  ming- 
ling together  relieved  the  oppression  of  my  grateful,  blissful 
heart.  I  really  felt  too  happy.  The  intensity  of  my  joy  was 
painful,  from  its  excess. 

"This  is  yours,"  said  he,  as  we  afterwards  stood  in  an 
apartment  whose  vaulted  ceiling,  formed  of  ground  crystal  and 
lighted  above  by  gas,  resembled  the  softest  lustre  of  moonlight. 
The  hangings  of  the  beds  and  windows  were  of  the  richest 
azure-colored  satin,  fringed  with  silver,  which  seemed  the  livery 
of  the  mansion. 

"  And  this  is  yours,"  he  added,  lifting   ^   damask  curtain, 


242  EBNESl     LIN  WOOD. 

which  fell  over  a  charming  little  recess  that  opened  into  a 
beautiful  flower  bed.  "  This  is  a  kio^k,  where  you  can  sit  in 
the  moonlight  and  make  garlands  of  poetry,  which  Regulus 
cannot  wither." 

"  How  came  you  so  familiar  with  the  mysteries  of  this  en- 
chanted palace  ?  Is  it  not  novel  to  you,  as  well  as  to  me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  recollect  that  I  left  you  at  the  hotel  for  a  short 
time,  after  our  arrival  ?  I  accompanied  my  friend  hither,  and 
received  from  him  the  clue  to  these  magic  apartments.  This  is 
a  bathing-room,"  said  he,  opening  one,  where  a  marble  bath 
and  ewer,  and  every  luxurious  appliance  reminded  one  of  East- 
ern luxury.  Even  the  air  had  a  soft  languor  in  it,  as  if  per- 
fumed breaths  had  mingled  there. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  former  mistress  of  this  palace,"  said 
I,  gazing  round  with  a  bewildered  smile ;  "  she  was  probably 
some  magnificent  Eastern  sultana  who  reclined  under  that  royal 
canopy,  and  received  sherbet  from  the  hands  of  kneeling  slaves. 
She  little  dreamed  of  the  rustic  successor  who  would  tread  her 
marble  halls,  and  revel  in  the  luxuries  prepared  for  her." 

*'  She  was  a  very  elegant  and  intellectual  woman,  I  am  told," 
replied  Ernest,  "  who  accompanied  her  husband  in  his  travels, 
and  assisted  him  in  every  enterprise,  by  the  energy  of  her  mind 
and  the  constancy  of  her  heart,  and  whose  exquisite  taste  di- 
rected the  formation  of  this  graceful  structure.  She  painted 
the  frescos  on  the  ceiling  of  the  boudoir,  and  that  richly  tinted 
picture  of  an  Italian  sunset  is  the  work  of  her  hand.  This 
house  and  its  decorations  are  not  as  costly  as  many  others  in 
this  city,  but  it  has  such  an  air  of  Asiatic  magnificence  it  pro- 
duces an  illusion  on  the  eye.  I  wish,  myself,  it  was  not  quite  so 
showy,  but  it  makes  such  a  charming  contrast  to  the  simplicity 
and  freshness  of  your  character  I  cannot  wish  it  otherwise." 

"  I  fear  I  shall  be  spoiled.  I  shall  imagine  myself  one  of 
those  dark-eyed  houris,  who  dwell  in  the  bowers  of  paradise 
and  welcome  the  souls  of  the  brave." 

"  That  is  no  inappropriate  comparison,"  said  he  ;  "  but  you 
must  not  believe  me  an  Eastern  satrap,  Gabriella,  who  dares 
not  enter  his  wife's  apartment  without  seeing  the  signal  of  ad- 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  243 

roittance  at  the  door.  Here  is  another  room  opening  into  this  ; " 
and  pressing  a  spring,  a  part  of  the  dividing  walls  slid  back,  re- 
vealing an  apartment  of  similar  dimensions,  and  furnished  with 
equal  elegance. 

"  This,"  added  he,  "  was  arranged  by  the  master  of  the  man- 
sion for  his  own  accommodation.  Here  is  his  library,  which 
seems  a  mass  of  burnished  gold,  from  the  splendid  binding  of 
the  books.  By  certain  secret  springs  the  light  can  be  so  grad- 
uated in  this  room,  that  you  can  vary  it  from  the  softest  twi- 
light to  the  full  blaze  of  day." 

"  The  Arabian  Nights  dramatized !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I  fear 
we  are  walking  over  trap-doors,  whose  secret  mouths  are  ready 
to  yawn  on  the  unsuspecting  victim." 

"  Beware  then,  Gabriella,  —  I  may  be  one  of  the  genii,  whose 
terrible  power  no  mortal  can  evade,  who  can  read  the  thoughts 
of  the  heart  as  easily  as  the  printed  page.  How  would  you 
like  to  be  perused  so  closely  ?  " 

"  Would  that  you  could  read  every  thought  of  my  heart,  Er- 
nest, every  emotion  of  my  soul,  then  you  would  know,  what 
words  can  never  express,  —  the  height  and  depth  of  my  love 
and  devotion  —  I  will  not  say  gratitude  —  since  you  reject  and 
disown  it,  —  but  that  I  must  ever  feel.  Can  I  ever  forget  the 
generosity,  the  magnanimity,  which,  overlooking  the  cloud  upon 
my  birth,  has  made  me  the  sharer  of  your  princely  destiny,  the 
mistress  of  a  home  like  this  ?  " 

"  You  do*not  care  for  it,  only  as  the  expression  of  my  affec- 
tion ;  I  am  sure  you  do  not,"  he  repeated,  and  his  dark  gray 
eye  seemed  to  read  the  inmost  depths  of  thought. 

"  Oh,  no !  a  cottage  or  a  palace  would  be  alike  to  me,  pro- 
vided you  are  near  me.  It  seems  to  me  now  as  if  I  should 
awake  in  the  morning,  and  find  I  had  been  in  a  dream.  I  am 
not  sure  that  you  have  not  a  magic  ring  on  your  finger  thai 
produces  this  illusion." 

But  the  morning  sunbeams  flashed  on  the  softly  murmuring 
fountain,  on  the  white  polished  forms  of  the  Grecian  myths,  on 
the  trailing  luxuriance  of  the  tropic  blossoms.  They  glanced  in 
16 


244  ERNEST     LItfWOOD. 

on  the  glittering  drapery  that  wreathed  the  marbh  columns,  and 
lighted  the  crystal  dome  over  my  head  with  a  mild,  subdued 
radiance. 

A  boudoir  which  I  had  not  seen  the  evening  before  elicited 
my  morning  admiration,  —  it  was  furnished  with  such  exquisite 
elegance,  and  contained  so  many  specimens  of  the  fine  arts. 
Two  rosewood  cabinets,  inlaid  with  pearl,  were  filled  with  chefs- 
d'ceuvres  from  the  hands  of  masters,  collected  in  the  old  world. 
They  were  locked ;  but  through  the  glass  doors  I  could  gaze 
and  admire,  and  make  them  all  my  own.  An  elegant  escritoire 
was  open  on  the  table,  the  only  thing  with  which  I  could  asso- 
ciate the  idea  of  utility.  Yes,  there  was  a  harp,  that  seemed 
supported  by  a  marble  cherub,  —  a  most  magnificent  instru- 
ment. I  sighed  to  think  it  was  useless  to  me;  but  Ernest's 
hand  would  steal  music  from  its  silent  strings. 

And  now  behold  me  installed  as  mistress  of  this  lux- 
urious mansion,  an  utter  stranger  in  the  heart  of  a  great 
metropolis ! 

It  was  now  that  I  understood  the  reserve  of  Ernest's  charac- 
ter. It  was  impossible  that  we  should  remain  altogether  stran- 
gers, living  in  a  style  which  wealth  only  could  sanction.  Mr. 
Harland,  the  gentleman  with  whom  Ernest  had  corresponded, 
moved  in  the  circles  of  fashion  and  distinction,  and  he  introduced 
his  friends  and  acquaintances,  being  himself  a  frequent  and 
agreeable  visitor.  Ernest  received  our  guest  with  elegance  and 
politeness, — these  attributes  were  inseparable  from  himself, — 
but  there  was  a  coldness  and  reserve  that  seemed  to  forbid  all 
approach  to  intimacy.  Fearful  of  displeasing  him,  I  repressed 
the  natural  frankness  and  social  warmth  of  my  nature,  and  I 
am  sure  our  visitors  often  departed  chilled  and  disappointed. 
The  parlor  was  lined  with  mirrors,  and  I  could  not  turn  without 
seeing  myself  reflected  on  every  side  ;  and  not  only  myself,  but 
an  eye  that  watched  my  every  movement,  and  an  ear  that 
drank  in  my  every  word.  How  could  I  feel  at  ease,  or  do  jus- 
tice to  those  powers  of  ploasing  with  which  nature  may  have 
gifted  me  ? 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  245 

Sometimes,  though  very  seldom,  Ernest  was  not  present ;  and 
then  my  spirits  rebounded  from  this  unnatural  constraint,  and 
I  laughed  and  talked  like  other  people.  The  youthful  bright- 
ness of  my  feelings  flashed  forth,  and  I  forgot  that  a  clouded 
ilw  presided  over  my  young  life. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

I  WOULD  not  give  the  impression  that,  at  this  time,  I 
felt  hurt  at  the  coldness  and  reserve  of  Ernest,  as  exhibited 
in  society.  I  was  fearful  of  displeasing  him  by  showing  too 
much  pleasure  in  what  did  not  appear  to  interest  him;  but 
when  the  door  was  closed  on  the  departing  guest  and  he  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  Thank  heaven !  we  are  once  more  alone !  " 

I  could  not  help  echoing  the  sentiment  which  brought  us  so 
close  to  each  other,  and  rejoiced  with  him  that  formality  and 
restraint  no  longer  interfered  with  the  freedom  of  love  and  the 
joys  of  home.  He  never  appeared  so  illumined  with  intellect, 
so  glowing  with  feeling,  as  in  moments  like  these ;  and  I  was 
flattered  that  a  mind  so  brilliant,  and  a  heart  so  warm,  reserved 
their  brightness  and  their  warmth  for  me.  If  he  was  happy 
with  me,  and  me  only,  how  supremely  blest  should  I  be,  with  a 
companion  so  intellectual  and  fascinating !  If  Edith  were  but 
near,  so  that  I  could  say  to  her  occasionally,  "  How  happy  I 
am ! "  if  Mrs.  Linwood  were  with  me  to  know  that  nothing  had 
yet  arisen  to  disturb  the  heaven  of  our  wedded  happiness ;  if 
excellent  Dr.  Harlowe  could  only  call  in  once  in  a  while,  with 
his  pleasant  words  and  genial  smiles ;  or  kindly  feeling,  awkward 
Mr.  Regulus,  I  should  not  have  a  wish  ungratified. 

It  is  true  I  sometimes  wished  I  had  something  to  do,  but  we 
had  supernumerary  servants,  and  if  I  found  any  employment  it 
must  have  been  similar  to  that  of  Jack  the  bean-boy,  who 
poured  his  beans  on  the  floor  and  then  picked  them  up  again. 
I  was  fond  of  sewing.  But  the  wardrobe  of  a  young  bride  is  gen- 
erally too  well  supplied ;  at  least  mine  was,  to  admit  of  much 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  247 

exercise  with  the  needle.  I  was  passionately  fond  of  reading, 
and  of  hearing  Ernest  read ;  and  many  an  hour  every  day  was 
devoted  to  books.  But  the  mind,  like  the  body,  can  digest  only  a 
certain  quantity  of  food,  and  is  oppressed  by  an  excessive  por- 
tion. 

Had  Ernest  welcomed  society,  our  superb  parlor  would  have 
been  thronged  with  nightly  guests ;  but  he  put  up  bars  of  cere- 
mony against  such  intrusion  ;  polished  silver  they  were,  it  is 
true,  but  they  were  felt  to  be  heavy  and  strong.  He  never  vis- 
ited himself,  that  is,  socially.  He  paid  formal  calls,  as  he  would 
an  inevitable  tax,  rejoicing  when  the  wearisome  task  was  over ; 
Out  beyond  the  limits  of  ceremony  he  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  pass. 

Gradually  our  evening  visitors  became  few,  —  the  cold  season 
advanced,  the  fountain  ceased  to  play  in  the  grotto,  and  the 
beautiful  flowers  were  inclosed  in  the  greenhouse. 

Our  rooms  were  warmed  by  furnaces  below,  which  diffused  a 
summer  temperature  through  the  house.  In  mine,  the  heat 
came  up  through  an  exquisite  Etruscan  vase,  covered  with  flow- 
ers, which  seemed  to  emit  odor  as  well  as  warmth,  and  threw 
the  illusion  of  spring  over  the  dullness  and  gloom  of  winter. 
But  I  missed  the  glowing  hearth  of  Mrs.  Linwood,  the  bright- 
ness and  heartiness  of  her  winter  fireside. 

I  never  shall  forget  how  I  started  with  horror,  when  I  way 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  ennui,  even  in  the  presence  of  Ernest. 
It  was  not  possible  I  should  be  weary  of  the  joys  of  heaven,  if 
I  were  capable  of  sighing  in  my  own  Eden  bower.  I  tried  to 
banish  the  impression  ;  it  WOULD  return,  and  with  it  self-re- 
proach and  shame. 

If  Ernest  had  not  been  lifted  by  wealth  above  the  necessity 
of  exertion ;  had  he  been  obliged  to  exercise  the  talents  with 
which  he  was  so  liberally  endowed  for  his  own  support  and  the 
benefit  of  mankind  ;  had  he  some  profession  which  compelled 
\iirn  to  mingle  in  the  world,  till  the  too  exquisite  edge  of  his 
sensibilities  were  blunted  by  contact  with  firmer,  rougher  na- 
tures, what  a  blessing  it  would  have  been  !  With  what  pride 
would  I  have  seen  him  go  forth  to  his  daily  duties,  sure  that  he 


248  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

was  imparting  and  receiving  good.  With  what  rapture  would 
I  have  welcomed  his  returning  footstep ! 

Oh !  had  he  been  a  poor  man,  he  would  have  heon  a  great 
man.  He  was  not  obliged  to  toil,  either  physically  or  mentally; 
and  indolence  is  born  of  luxury,  and  morbid  sensibility  luxuri- 
ates in  the  lap  of  indolence.  Forms  of  beauty  and  grandeur 
wait  in  the  marble  quarry  for  the  hand  of  genius  and  skill. 
Ingots  of  gold  sleep  in  the  mine,  till  the  explorer  fathoms  its 
depths  and  brings  to  light  the  hidden  treasures.  Labor  is  the 
slave  of  the  lamp  of  life,  who  alone  keeps  its  flame  from  wax- 
ing dim.  When  a  child,  I  looked  upon  poverty  as  man's  greatest 
curse  ;  but  I  now  thought  differently.  To  feel  that  every  wish 
is  gratified,  every  want  supplied,  is  almost  as  dreary  as  to  in- 
dulge the  wish,  and  experience  the  want,  without  the  means  of 
satisfying  the  cravings  of  one  or  the  urgency  of  the  other.' 

Had  Ernest  been  a  poor  man,  he  would  not  have  had  time 
to  think  unceasingly  of  me.  His  mind  would  have  been  occu- 
pied with  sterner  thoughts  and  more  exalted  cares.  But  rich 
as  he  was,  I  longed  to  see  him  live  for  something  nobler  than 
personal  enjoyment,  to  know  that  he  possessed  a  higher  aim 
than  love  for  me.  I  did  not  feel  worthy  to  fill  the  capacities  of 
that  noble  heart.  I  wanted  him  to  love  me  less,  that  I  might 
have  something  more  to  desire. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  so  deeply,  sweet  wife  ?  "  he  asked, 
when  I  had  been  unconsciously  indulging  in  a  long,  deep  reverie. 
a  What  great  subject  knits  so  severely  that  fair  young  brow?" 
he  repeated,  sitting  by  me,  and  taking  my  hand  in  his. 

I  blushed,  for  my  thoughts  were  making  bold  excursions. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  I  answered,  looking  bravely  in  his  face, 
-"'  what  a  blessed  thing  it  must  be  to  do  good,  to  have  the  will  as 
well  as  the  power  to  bless  mankind." 

"  Tell  me  what  scheme  of  benevolence  my  little  philanthro- 
pist  is  forming.  What  mighty  engine  would  she  set  in  motion 
to  benefit  her  species  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  how  happy  a  person  must  feel,  who  was  able 
to  establish  an  asylum  for  the  blind  or  the  insane,  a  hospital 
tor  the  sick,  or  a  home  for  the  orphan.  I  was  thinking  how 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  249 

delightful  it  would  be  to  go  out  into  the  byways  of  poverty,  the 
abodes  of  sickness  and  want,  and  bid  their  inmates  follow  me, 
where  comfort  and  ease  and  plenty  awaited  them.  I  was 
thinking,  if  I  were  a  man,  how  I  would  love  to  be  called  the 
friend  and  benefactor  of  mankind ;  but,  being  a  woman,  how 
proud  and  happy  I  should  be  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  such 
a  good  and  glorious  being,  and  hear  the  blessings  bestowed  upon 
his  name." 

I  spoke  with  earnestness,  and  my  cheeks  glowed  with  en- 
thusiasm. I  felt  the  clasp  of  his  hand  tighten  as  he  drew  me 
closer  to  his  side. 

"  You  have  been  thinking,"  he  said,  in  his  peculiarly  grave, 
melodious  accents,  "  that  I  am  leading  a  self-indulging,  too 
luxurious  life  ?" 

"  Not  you  —  not  you  alone,  dearest  Ernest ;  but  both  of  us," 
I  cried,  feeling  a  righteous  boldness,  I  did  not  dream  that  I 
possessed.  "  Do  not  the  purple  and  the  fine  linen  of  luxury 
enervate  the  limbs  which  they  clothe?  Is  there  no  starving 
Lazarus,  who  may  rebuke  us  hereafter  for  the  sumptuous  fare 
over  which  we  have  revelled?  I  know  how  generous,  how 
compassionate  you  are ;  how  ready  you  are  to  relieve  the 
sufferings  brought  before  your  eye  ;  but  how  little  we  witness 
here !  how  few  opportunities  we  have  of  doing  good !  Ought 
they  not  to  be  sought  ?  May  they  not  be  found  everywhere  in 
this  great  thoroughfare  of  humanity  ?  " 

"  You  shall  find  my  purse  as  deep  as  your  charities,  my  love- 
ly monitress,"  he  answered,  while  his  countenance  beamed  with 
approbation.  "My  bounty  as  boundless  as  your  desires.  But, 
in  a  great  city  like  this,  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  between 
willing  degradation  and  meritorious  poverty.  You  could  not  go 
into  the  squalid  dens  of  want  and  sin,  without  soiling  the  white- 
ness of  your  spirit,  by  familiarity  with  scenes  which  I  would 
not  have  you  conscious  of  passing  in  the  world.  There  are 
those  who  go  about  as  missionaries  of  good  among  the  lowest 
dregs  of  the  populace,  whom  you  can  employ  as  agents  for 
your  bounty.  There  are  benevolent  associations,  through  which 
your  charities  can  flow  in  full  and  refreshing  streams.  Remem- 


250  ERNEST     L  I  X  -W  O  O  D  . 

her,  I  place  no  limits  to  your  generosities.  As  to  your  magni* 
flcent  plans  of  establishing  asylums  and  public  institutions  for 
the  lame,  the  halt,  and  the  blind,  perhaps  my  single  means 
might  not  be  able  to  accomplish  them,  —  delightful  as  it  would 
be  to  have  an  angel  following  in  my  footsteps,  and  binding  up 
the  wounds  of  suffering  humanity." 

Pie  smiled  with  radiant  good-humor  at  my  Quixotic  schemes. 
Then  he  told  me,  that  since  he  had  been  in  the  city  he  had 
given  thousands  to  the  charitable  associations  which  spread  in 
great  lifegiving  veins  through  every  part  of  the  metropolis. 

"  You  think  I  am  living  in  vain,  my  Gabriella,"  he  said, 
rising  and  walking  the  length  of  the  splendid  apartment  and 
again  returning,  "  because  I  do  not  have  ray  allotted  daily  task 
to  perform  ;  because  I  do  not  go  forth,  like  the  lawyer,  with  a 
green  bag  under  my  arm ;  like  the  minister,  with  a  sermon  in 
my  pocket ;  or  the  doctor,  with  powders  and  pills.  If  necessity 
imposed  such  tasks  on  me,  I  suppose  I  should  perform  them 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  the  rest ;  but  surely  it  would  ill  become 
me  to  enter  the  lists  with  my  needier  brethren,  and  take  the 
bread  from  their  desiring  lips.  Every  profession  is  crowded. 
Even  woman  is  pressing  into  the  throng,  and  claiming  precedent 
of  man,  in  the  great  struggle  of  life.  It  seems  to  me,  that  it  la 
the  duty  of  those  on  whom  fortune  has  lavished  her  gift?,,  to 
step  aside  and  give  room  to  others,  who  are  less  libe;.«Ily 
endowed.  We  may  live  in  luxury ;  but  by  so  doing,  our  v? ^alth 
is  scattered  among  the  multitude,  the  useful  arts  are  encoua'^cd, 
and  much  is  done  for  the  establishment  of  that  golden  ivr.an, 
which  reason  and  philosophy  have  so  long  labored  to  se  ,  jre." 

As  he  thus  spoke  calmly,  yet  energetically,  moving  I  »ck  and 
forth  under  the  arches  of  glittering  azure,  his  pale,  transparent 
complexion  lighted  up  glowingly.  My  eyes  followed  ir.m  with 
exulting  affection.  I  wondered  at  the  presumption  c/r  which  I 
had  been  guilty.  He  had  been  doing  good  in  seer  it,  while  1 
imagined  him  forgetful  of  the  sacred  legacy,  left  by  Christ  to 
the  rich.  I  had  wronged  him  in  thought,  and  I  told  him  so. 

"  You  asked  me  of  what  I  was  thinking,"  I  said,  "  and  you 
draw  my  thoughts  from  me  as  by  magic.  I  have  not  told  you 


ERNEST      LINWOOD.  251 

all.  1  do  not  sigh  for  other  society  ;  but  I  feai  you  will  become 
weary  of  mine." 

"  Do  we  ever  weary  of  moonlight,  or  the  sweet,  tresh  air  of 
heaven  ?  No,  Gabriella  ;  remain  just  as  you  are,  ingenuous, 
confiding,  and  true,  and  I  desire  no  other  companionship.  You 
so  entirely  till  my  heart,  there  is  no  room  for  more.  You  never 
have  had,  never  will  have  a  rival.  You  have  a  power  over 
me,  such  as  woman  seldom  exercises  over  man.  Love,  with 
most  men,  is  the  pastime  ana  gladdener  of  life  ;  with  me  it  is 
life  itself.  A  fearful  responsibility  is  resting  on  you,  ray  own, 
dear  bride  ;  but  do  not  tremble.  I  do  not  think  it  is  possible 
for  you  to  deceive  me,  for  you  are  truth  itself.  I  begin  to  think 
you  have  changed  my  nature,  and  inspired  me  with  trust  and 
confidence  in  all  mankind." 

I  did  not  make  any  professions,  any  promises,  in  answer  to 
his  avowal  ;  but  if  ever  a  fervent  prayer  rose  from  the  human 
heart,  it  ascended  from  mine,  that  I  might  prove  worthy  of  this 
trust,  that  I  might  preserve  it  unblemished,  with  a  constant 
reference  to  the  eye  that  cannot  be  deceived,  and  the  judg- 
ment that  cannot  err. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE  first  misfortune  of  my  married  life,  came  in  the  person 
of  Margaret  Melville.  She  burst  into  the  boudoir  one  morning 
like  a  young  tornado,  seizing  me  in  her  strong  arms,  and  giving 
me  a  shower  of  kisses,  before  I  had  time  to  recover  from  my 
astonishment. 

Ernest  and  myself  were  seated  side  by  side  by  the  escritoire. 
He  was  reading,  —  I  was  writing  to  Edith,  little  dreaming  of 
the  interruption  at  hand. 

"  My  dear  creature,"  she  exclaimed,  with  one  of  her  inimita- 
ble ringing  laughs,  "  how  do  you  do  ?  You  did  n't  think  of 
seeing  me,  I  know  you  did  n't.  Where  did  I  come  from  ?  I 
dropped  down  from  the  upper  regions,  —  you  do  not  believe 
that.  Well,  I  came  with  a  party  of  friends,  who  wanted  me 
to  keep  them  alive.  They  are  stopping  at  the  Astor  House. 
By  the  way,  my  trunks  are  there,  —  you  may  send  for  them 
as  soon  as  you  please.  (Her  trunks !  she  had  come  for  a 
long  visit,  then  !)  There  is  my  bonnet,  mantilla,  and  gloves,  — 
here  1  am,  body  and  soul,  —  what  a  glorious  lounge,  —  good 
old  Croesus,  what  a  palace  you  are  in,  —  I  never  saw  any  thing 
so  magnificent !  Why,  this  is  worth  getting  married  for  !  If  I 
ever  marry,  it  shall  be  to  a  rich  man,  and  one  who  will  let  rae 
do  just  as  I  please,  too.'' 

Ernest  in  vain  endeavored  to  conceal  his  vexation  at  this  un- 
expected innovation  on  the  elegant  quietude  and  romantic 
seclusion  of  our  home.  His  countenance  expressed  it  but  too 
plainly,  and  Margaret,  careless  as  she  was,  must  have  observed 
it.  It  did  not  appear  to  disconcert  her,  however.  She  had  not 
Wa/ted  for  an  invitation,  —  she  did  not  trouble  herself  about  a 

(252) 


EBNEST      LINWOOD.  253 

welcome.  She  had  come  for  her  own  amusement,  and  pro- 
vided that  was  secured,  she  cared  not  for  our  gratification. 

I  can  hardly  explain  my  own  feelings.  I  always  dreaded 
coming  in  contact  with  her  rudeness ;  there  was  no  sympathy 
in  our  natures,  and  yet  I  experienced  a  sensation  of  relief 
while  listening  to  her  bubbling  and  effervescent  nonsense.  My 
mind  had  been  kept  on  so  high  a  tone,  there  was  a  strain,  a 
tension,  of  which  I  was  hardly  conscious  till  the  bowstring  was 
slackened.  Besides,  she  was  associated  with  the  recollections 
of  Grandison  Place,  —  she  was  a  young  person  of  my  own  sex, 
and  she  could  talk  to  me  of  Mrs.  Linwood,  and  Edith,  and  the 
friends  of  my  rural  life.  So  I  tried  to  become  reconciled  to 
the  visitation,  and  to  do  the  honors  of  a  hostess  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  possible. 

Ernest  took  refuge  in  the  library  from  her  wild  rattling,  and 
then  she  poured  into  my  ear  the  idle  gossip  she  had  heard  the 
evening  before. 

"  It  never  will  do,"  she  cried,  catching  a  pair  of  scissors  from 
my  work-box,  and  twirling  them  on  the  ends  of  her  fingers  at 
tho  imminent  risk  of  their  flying  into  my  eyes,  — "  you  must 
put  a  stop  to  this  Darby  and  Joan  way  of  living,  —  you  will  ba 
the  byword  of  the  fashionable  world,  —  I  heard  several  gentle- 
men talking  about  you  last  night.  They  said  your  husband 
was  so  exclusive  and  jealous  he  would  not  let  the  sun  look  upon 
you  if  he  could  help  it,  —  that  he  had  the  house  lighted  through 
the  roof,  so  that  no  one  could  peep  at  you  through  the  windows. 
Oh !  I  cannot  repeat  half  the  ridiculous  things  they  said,  but  1 
am  sure  your  ears  must  have  burned  from  the  compliments 
they  paid  you,  at  least  those  who  have  had  the  good-luck  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  your  face.  They  all  agreed  that  Ernest 
was  a  frightful  ogre,  who  ought  to  be  put  in  a  boiling  cauldron, 
for  immuring  y  )u  so  closely,  —  I  am  going  to  tell  him  so." 

"  Do  n't,  Margaret,  do  n't !  If  you  have  any  regard  for  my 
feelings,  do  n't,  I  entreat  you,  ever  repeat  one  word  of  this  un- 
meaning gossip  to  him.  He  is  so  peculiarly  sensitive,  he  would 
shrink  still  more  from  social  intercourse.  What  a  shame  it  is 


254  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

to  talk  of  him  in  this  manner.  I  am  sure  I  have  as  mu^h  lib- 
erty as  I  wish.  He  is  ready  to  gratify  every  desire  of  my 
heart.  He  has  made  me  the  happiest  of  human  beings." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  all  that,  of  course.  Who  would  not  be  happy 
in  such  a  palace  as  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  the  splendor  with  which  he  has  surrounded  me,"  I 
answered,  gravely,  "  but  the  love  which  is  my  earthly  Provi- 
dence, which  constitutes  my  felicity.  You  may  tell  these  busy 
idlers,  who  are  so  interested  in  my  domestic  happiness,  that  I 
thank  my  husband  for  excluding  me  from  companions  so  inferior 
to  himself,  —  so  incapable  of  appreciating  the  purity  and  eleva- 
tion of  his  character." 

"  Well,  my  precious  soul,  do  n't  be  angry  with  them.  You  are 
a  jewel  of  a  wife,  and  I  dare  say  he  is  a  diamond  of  a  husband  ; 
but  you  cannot  stop  peoples'  tongues.  They  will  talk  when 
folks  set  themselves  up  as  exclusives.  But  let  me  tell  you  one 
thing,  my  pretty  creature  !  —  I  am  not  going  to  be  shut  up  in  a 
cage  while  I  am  here,  I  assure  you.  I  am  determined  to  see  all 
the  lions ;  go  to  all  fashionable  places  of  amusement,  all  attrac- 
tive exhibitions,  theatres,  concerts,  panoramas,  every  thing  that 
promises  the  least  particle  of  enjoyment.  I  shall  parade  Broad- 
way, frequent  Stewart's  marble  palace,  and  make  myself  the 
belle  of  the  city.  And  you  are  to  go  with  me,  my  dear,  —  for 
am  I  not  your  guest,  and  are  you  not  bound  to  minister  to  my 
gratification  ?  As  for  your  ogre,  he  may  go  or  stay,  just  as  he 
pleases.  There  will  be  plenty  who  will  be  glad  enough  to  take 
his  place." 

I  did  not  expect  that  she  would  have  the  audacity  to  say  this 
to  Ernest ;  but  she  did.  I  had  never  asked  him  to  take  me  to 
places  of  public  amusement,  because  I  knew  he  did  not  wish  it. 
Sometimes,  when  I  saw  in  the  morning  papers  that  a  celebrated 
actor  was  to  appear  in  a  fine  drama,  my  heart  throbbed  with 
momentary  desire,  and  my  lips  opened  to  express  it.  But  deli- 
cacy and  pride  always  restrained  its  expression.  I  waited  for 
him  to  say,  — 

u  Gabriella,  would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  255 

The  morning  after  her.arrival  she  ransacked  the  papers,  and 
fastening  on  the  column  devoted  to  amusements,  read  its  con- 
tents aloud,  to  the  evident  annoyance  of  Ernest. 

"  Niblo's  Garden,  the  inimitable  Ravels  —  La  Fete  cham- 
petre,  —  dancing  on  the  tight-rope,  etc.  Yes,  that 's  it.  We 
will  go  there  to-night,  Gabriella.  I  have  been  dying  to  see  tlm 
Ravels.  Cousin  Ernest,  —  you  did  not  know  that  you  were  my 
cousin,  did  you  ?  —  but  you  are.  Our  mothers  have  been  climb- 
ing the  genealogical  tree,  and  discovered  our  collateral  branches. 
Cousin  Ernest,  go  and  get  us  tickets  before  the  best  seats  are 
secured.  What  an  unpromising  countenance  !  Never  mind. 
Mr.  Harland  said  he  would  be  only  too  happy  to  attend  Ga- 
briella and  myself  to  any  place  of  amusement  or  party  of  pleas- 
ure. You  are  not  obliged  to  go,  unless  you  choose.  Is  he,  Ga- 
Vriella?" 

"  I  certainly  should  not  think  of  going  without  him,"  I  an- 
swered, vexed  to  discover  how  much  I  really  wished  to  go. 

"  But  you  wish  to  go,  —  you  know  you  do.  Poor,  dear  little 
soul!  You  have  never  been  anywhere,  —  you  have  seen  noth- 
ing, —  you  live  as  close  and  demure  as  a  church  mouse,  — 
while  this  man-monster,  who  has  nothing  in  the  universe  to  do, 
from  morning  till  night,  but  wait  upon  you  and  contribute  to 
your  gratification,  keeps  you  at  home,  like  a  bird  in  a  cage, 
just  to  look  at  and  admire.  It  is  too  selfish.  If  you  will 
not  tell  him  so,  /  will.  He  shall  hear  the  truth  from  some- 
body." 

"  Margaret ! "  I  said,  frightened  at  the  pale  anger  of  Ernest's 
2ountenance. 

"  You  dare  not  look  me  in  the  face  and  say  that  you  do  not 
wish  to  go,  Gabriella  ?  You  know  you  dare  not." 

"  I  desire  nothing  contrary  to  my  husband's  wishes." 

"  You  are  a  little  simpleton,  then,  —  and  I  do  n't  care  what 
people  say.  It  is  a  sin  to  encourage  him  in  such  selfishness  and 
despotism." 

She  laughed,  but  her  lips  curled  with  scorn. 

Ernest  took  up  a  pearl  paper-cutter  from  the  table,  and  bent 
it,  till  it  broke  like  glass  in  his  fingers.  He  did  not  kn<w  what 


256  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

he  was  doing.  Madge  only  laughed  the  louder.  She  enjoyed 
his  anger  and  my  trepidation. 

"  A  pretty  thing  to  make  a  scene  of ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Here 
I  come  all  the  way  from  Boston  to  make  you  a  visit,  —  expect- 
ing you  would  do  every  thing  to  make  me  happy,  as  other  folks 
do,  when  friends  visit  them.  I  propose  a  quiet,  respectable 
amusement,  in  my  own  frank,  go-ahead  way,  —  and  lo! — my 
lord  frowns,  and  my  lady  trembles,  and  both,  occupied  in  watch- 
ing each  other's  emotions,  forget  they  have  a  guest  to  entertain, 
as  well  as  a  friend  to  gratify." 

"  You  might  wait  till  I  have  refused  to  accompany  you,  Miss 
Melville,"  said  Ernest,  in  a  cold,  calm  voice.  "  You  know  me 
incapable  of  such  rudeness.  But  I  cannot  allow  even  a  lady  to 
make  such  unpardonable  allusions  to  my  domestic  feelings  and 
conduct.  If  a  man  cannot  find  a  sanctuary  from  insult  in  his 
own  home,  he  may  well  bar  his  doors  against  intrusion,  and  if 
he  has  the  spirit  of  a  man,  he  will." 

"  She  is  only  jesting,"  said  I,  with  a  beseeching  glance.  "You 
know  Madge  of  old,  —  she  never  says  any  thing  she  really 
thinks.  How  can  you  be  excited  by  any  remarks  of  hers  ?  " 

"  Cousin  Ernest,"  cried  Madge,  while  the  laughing  devil  in  her 
great  black  eyes  tried  to  shrink  into  a  hiding-place,  "  have  you 
not  manliness  to  forgive  me,  when  the  rash  humor  which  my 
mother  gave  me  makes  me  forgetful  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  an  ardent  desire  for  reconciliation. 
She  found  she  had  a  spirit  to  contend  with,  stronger  than  she 
imagined  ;  and  for  the  moment  she  was  subdued. 

"Not  your  mother,  Margaret,"  replied  Ernest,  taking  the 
offered  hand  with  a  better  grace  than  I  anticipated.  "  She  is 
gentle  and  womanly,  like  my  own.  I  know  not  whence  you 
derived  your  wickedness." 

"  It  is  all  original.  I  claim  the  sole  credit  of  it.  Father 
and  mother  both  saints.  I  am  a  moral  tangent,  flying  off  be- 
tween them.  "Well,  we  are  friends  again  ;  are  we  not  ?  " 

"  We  are  at  peace,"  he  answered.  "  You  know  the  con- 
ditions, now,  and  I  trust  will  respect  them." 

"  "We  are  all  going  to  Niblo's,"  she  cried  eagerly ;  "  that  is 
one  condition." 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  257 

u  Certainly,"  he  answered  ;  and  he  could  not  help  smiling  at 
the  adroitness  with  which  she  changed  positions  with  him. 

"  Will  you  really  like  to  go,  Gabriella  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to> 
me  ;  and  his  countenance  beamed  with  all  its  wonted  tenderness. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  I  will.     I  am  sure  it  will  be  delightful." 

"  And  have  you  ever  desired  to  partake  of  pleasures,  without 
telling  me  of  your  wishes  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  call  the  transient  emotion  I  have 
felt,  a  desire,"  I  answered ;  blushing  that  I  had  ever  cherished 
thoughts  which  I  was  unwilling  to  disclose.  "  I  believe  curi- 
osity is  natural  to  youth  and  inexperience." 

"  Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear,  Gabriella.  You  must  promise 
to  tell  me  every  wish  of  your  heart ;  and  be  assured,  if  consist 
ent  with  reason,  it  shall  be  gratified  " 

Delighted  at  so  pleasant  a  termination  to  so  inauspicious  a 
beginning,  I  looked  forward  to  the  evening's  entertainment  with 
bright  and  elastic  spirits.  Once,  as  my  eye  rested  on  the  frag- 
ments of  pearl,  I  sighed  to  think  how  easily  the  pearls  of  sen- 
sibility, as  well  as  all  the  frail  and  delicate  treasures  of  life, 
might  be  crushed  by  the  hand  of  passion. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 


I  WAS  surprised,  when  I  found  myself  in  a  lofty  dome,  bril- 
liantly illuminated  by  gas,  instead  of  the  ample  flower-garden 
my  imagination  had  described.  I  hardly  know  what  idea  I  had 
formed;  but  I  expected  to  be  seated  in  the  open  air,  in  the 
midst  of  blossoming  plants,  and  singing  birds,  and  trees,  on 
whose  branches  variegated  lamps  were  burning.  Ernest  smiled 
when  I  told  him  of  my  disappointment. 

"  So  it  is  with  the  illusions  of  life,"  said  he.  "  They  all  pass 
away.  The  garden  which  you  passed  before  the  entrance,  has 
given  its  name  to  the  place;  and  even  that,  the  encroaching 
steps  of  business  will  trample  on." 

Mr.  Harland  escorted  Meg,  who  was  in  exuberant  spirits, 
and  as  usual  attracted  the  public  gaze  by  her  dashing  and  reck- 
less demeanor.  Conspicuous,  from  her  superior  height,  her 
large,  roving  black  eyes,  and  her  opera  cloak  of  brilliant  cherry 
color,  I  felt  sheltered  from  observation  in  her  vicinity,  and 
hoped  that  Ernest  would  find  I  could  mingle  in  public  scenes 
without  drawing  any  peculiar  attention.  Indeed,  I  was  so  ab- 
sorbed by  the  graceful  and  expressive  pantomime,  the  novelty 
and  variety  of  the  scenic  decorations,  that  I  thought  not  where 
I  was,  or  who  I  was.  To  city  dwellers,  a  description  of  these 
would  be  as  unnecessary  as  uninteresting  ;  but  perhaps  some 
young  country  girl,  as  inexperienced  as  myself  in  fashionable 
amusements,  may  like  to  follow  my  glowing  impressions. 

One  scene  I  remember,  which  had  on  me  the  effect  of  en- 
chantment. 

The  stage  represented  one  of  those  rural  fetes,  where  the 
peasantry  of  France  gather  on  the  village  green,  to  mingle  in 

(258) 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  259 

the  exhilarating  dance.  An  aged  couple  came  forward,  hand  in 
hand,  in  coarse  grey  overcoats,  wooden  sabots,  and  flapped  hats, 
fastened  by  gray  handkerchiefs  under  their  chins.  Two  tight 
ropes  were  stretched  parallel  to  each  other,  about  eight  or  ten 
feet  above  the  stage,  and  extended  over  the  parquette.  A  light 
ladder  rested  against  them,  on  each  side.  The  aged  couple  tot- 
tered to  the  ladder,  and  attempted  to  ascend  ;  but,  at  the  first 
step,  they  fell  and  rolled  on  the  ground. 

"  Poor  creatures  ! "  said  I,  trembling  for  their  safety.  u  Why 
«rill  they  make  such  a  ridiculous  attempt  ?  Why  will  not  some 
df  the  bystanders  prevent  them,  instead  of  urging  them  with 
such  exulting  shouts  ?  " 

"They  deserve  to  suffer  for  their  folly,''  answered  Ernest, 
laughing.  "Age  should  not  ape  the  agility  of  youth.  Perhaps 
ihey  will  do  better  than  you  anticipate." 

After  repeated  attempts  and  failures,  they  stood,  balancing 
Siemselves  painfully  on  the  ropes,  clinging  to  each  other's 
hands,  and  apparently  trembling  with  terror. 

"  They  will  fall ! "  I  exclaimed,  catching  hold  of  Ernest's 
arm,  and  covering  my  eyes.  I  cannot  bear  to  look  at  them. 
There  !  how  dreadfully  they  staggei." 

Again  I  covered  my  eyes,  resolved  to  shut  out  the  catastrophe 
of  their  broken  necks  and  mangled  limbs,  —  when  thunders  of 
acclamation  shook  the  house ;  and,  looking  up,  I  beheld  a  trans- 
formation that  seemed  supernatural.  The  old  great-coats, 
clumsy  sabots,  and  hats,  were  scattered  to  the  ground ;  and  two 
youthful  figures,  glittering  in  white  and  silver,  light  and  grace- 
ful as  "  feathered  Mercuries,"  stood,  hand  in  hand,  poised  on 
one  foot,  on  the  tight-drawn  ropes.  They  danced.  I  never 
realized  before  the  music  of  motion.  Now,  they  floated  down- 
wards like  softly  rolling  clouds  ;  then  vaulted  upwards  like  two 
white-winged  birds,  with  sunbeams  shining  on  their  plumage. 
A  bright,  fearless  smile  illumined  their  countenances ;  their 
chirk,  waving  locks  shone  in  the  dazzling  light. 

Ernest  seemed  to  enjoy  my  rapture.  "  I  take  more  pleasure." 
be  said,  "watching  your  vivid  emotions,  than  in  witnessing  tii?3 
wonderfully  graceful  exhibition.  What  a  perfect  child  of  nature 
17 


260  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

you  are,  Gabriella.  You  should  thank  me  for  keeping  you 
somewhat  aloof  from  the  fascinations  of  the  world.  It  is  only 
in  the  shade,  that  the  dew  remains  on  the  flower." 

I  do  not  think  one  glance  of  mine  had  wandered  from  the 
stage,  save  to  meet  the  eye  of  Ernest.  We  sat  in  the  second 
row  of  boxes,  about  half-way  distant  from  the  stage  and  the  cen- 
tre. I  knew  that  every  seat  was  crowded,  but  I  did  not  observe  the 
occupants.  Meg,  who  cared  as  much  about  the  audience  as  the 
performers,  kept  her  opera-glass  busy  in  gazing  on  those  who 
were  remote,  and  her  own  bold,  magnificent  eyes  in  examining 
those  in  her  vicinity. 

"  Gabriella  ! "  she  whispered,  "  do  look  at  that  gentleman  in 
the  next  box,  one  seat  in  advance  of  us.  He  has  been  gaz- 
ing at  you  for  an  hour  steadily.  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  and  made  a  motion,  enjoining  silence.  I 
did  not  think  Ernest  had  heard  her,  and  I  did  not  wish  his  atten- 
tion directed  towards  an  impertinence  of  this  kind.  It  would 
make  him  angry,  and  he  seemed  to  have  enjoyed  the  evening. 

"  Why  do  n't  you  look  ?  "  again  whispered  Meg.  "  He  may 
leave  the  box.  He  is  certainly  trying  to  magnetize  you." 

Impelled  by  growing  curiosity,  I  glanced  in  the  direction  she 
indicated,  and  met  the  unreceding  gaze  of  a  pair  of  dark,  intense 
eyes,  that  seemed  to  burn  in  their  sockets.  Their  owner  was  a 
gentleman,  who  appeared  about  forty  years  of  age,  of  a  very 
striking  figure,  and  features  originally  handsome,  but  wearing  the 
unmistakable  stamp  of  dissipation.  I  blushed  at  his  bold  and 
steadfast  scrutiny,  and  drew  involuntarily  nearer  to  Ernest. 
Ernest  observed  his  undaunted  stare,  and  his  brows  contracted 
over  his  flashing  eyes.  The  gentleman,  perceiving  this,  turned 
towards  the  stage,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  admiration  of  the 
graceful  and  inimitable  Ravels. 

"  Scoundrel ! "  muttered  Ernest,  leaning  forward  so  as  to  in- 
terpose a  barrier  to  his  insolence. 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me,  cousin  Ernest  ? "  asked  Meg,  with 
affected  simplicity. 

He  made  no  reply  ;  ar  d  as  the  stranger  did  not  turn  again,  I 
became  so  interested  ir  the  performance  as  to  forget  his  bold 


ERNEST     ±  IN  WOOD.  261 

ness.  During  the  interlude  between  the  plays,  I  begged  Ernest 
to  get  me  a  glass  of  water.  Meg  made  the  same  request  of  Mr. 
Harland,  and  for  a  short  time  we  were  left  alone. 

The  moment  the  gentlemen  had  left  the  box,  the  stranger  rose 
and  stepped  into  the  box  behind  him,  which  brought  him  on  a 
line  with  us,  and  close  to  me,  as  I  was  seated  next  to  the  parti 
tion.  I  did  not  look  him  in  the  face ;  but  I  could  not  help  being 
conscious  of  his  movements,  and  of  the  probing  gaze  he  again 
fixed  on  me.  I  wished  I  had  not  asked  for  the  water.  I  could 
have  borne  the  faintness  and  oppression  caused  by  the  odor  of 
the  gas  better  than  that  dark,  unshrinking  glance.  I  dreaded 
the  anger  of  Ernest  on  his  return.  I  feared  he  would  openly 
resent  an  insolence  so  publicly  and  perseveringly  displayed. 
"We  were  side  by  side,  with  only  the  low  partition  of  the  boxes 
between  us,  so  near  that  I  felt  his  burning  breath  on  my  cheek, 
—  a  breath  in  which  the  strong  perfume  of  orris-root  could  not 
overcome  the  fumes  of  the  narcotic  weed.  I  tried  to  move 
nearer  Meg,  but  her  back  was  partially  turned  to  me,  in  the  act 
of  conversing  with  some  gentleman  who  had  just  entered  the 
box,  and  she  was  planted  on  her  seat  firm  as  a  marble  statue. 

The  stranger's  hand  rested  on  the  partition,  and  a  note  fell 
into  my  lap. 

"  Conceal  this  from  your  husband,"  said  a  low,  quick  voice, 
scarcely  above  a  whisper,  "  or  his  life  shall  be  the  forfeit  as  weU 
as  mine." 

As  he  spoke,  he  lifted  his  right  hand,  exhibiting  a  miniature 
in  its  palm,  in  golden  setting.  One  moment  it  flashed  on  my 
gaze,  then  vanished,  but  that  glance  was  enough.  I  recognized 
the  lovely  features  of  my  mother,  though  blooming  with  youth, 
and  beaming  with  hope  and  joy. 

To  snatch  up  the  note  and  hide  it  in  my  bosom,  was  an  aci 
as  instinctive  as  the  beating  of  my  heart.  It  was  my  father, 
then,  from  whose  scorching  gaze  I  had  been  shrinking  with 
such  unutterable  dread  and  loathing,  —  the  being  whom  she 
had  once  so  idolatrously  loved,  whom  in  spite  of  her  wrongs 
she  continued  to  love, —  the  being  who  had  destroyed  her 
peace,  broken  her  heart,  and  laid  her  in  a  premature  grave  — 


262  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

the  being  whom  her  dying  lips  commanded  me  to  forgive,  whom 
her  prophetic  dream  warned  me  to  protect  from  unknown 
danger.  My  father !  I  had  imagined  him  dead,  so  many  years 
had  elapsed  since  my  mother's  flight.  I  had  thought  of  him  as 
a  fabulous  being.  I  dreamed  not  of  encountering  him,  and  if  I 
had,  I  should  have  felt  secure,  for  how  could  he  recognize  me  f 
My  father !  cold  and  sick  I  turned  away,  shivering  with  in- 
describable apprehension.  He  had  destroyed  my  mother, — 
he  had  come  to  destroy  me.  That  secret  note,  —  that  note 
which  I  was  to  conceal,  or  meet  so  awful  a  penalty,  seemed  to 
scorch  the  bosom  that  throbbed  wildly  against  its  folds. 

All  that  I  have  described  occurred  in  the  space  of  a  few 
moments.  Before  Ernest  returned,  the  stranger  had  resumed 
his  seat,  —  (I  cannot,  oh,  I  cannot  call  bun  father,)  — and  there 
was  no  apparent  cause  for  my  unconquerable  emotion.  Meg, 
who  was  laughing  and  talking  with  her  companions,  had  ob- 
served nothing.  The  secret  was  safe,  on  which  I  was  told  two 
lives  depended.  Two,  —  I  might  say  three,  since  one  was  the 
life  of  Ernest. 

I  attempted  to  take  the  glass  of  water,  but  my  hand  shook  so 
I  could  not  hold  it.  I  dared  not  look  in  the  face  of  Erne?t, 
lest  he  should  read  in  mine  all  that  had  occurred. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously.  "  Gabriella> 
has  any  thing  alarmed  you  during  my  absence  ?" 

"  The  odor  of  the  gas  sickens  me,"  I  answered,  evading  the 
question  ;  "  if  you  are  willing,  I  should  like  to  return  home." 

"  You  seem  strangely  affected  in  crowds,"  said  he,  in  an  un- 
dertone, and  bending  on  me  a  keen,  searching  glance.  "  I  re- 
member on  commencement  day  you  were  similarly  agitated." 

"  1  do  indeed  seem  destined  to  suffer  on  such  occasions,"  I 
answered,  a  sharp  pang  darting  through  my  heart.  I  read  sus- 
picion in  his  altered  countenance.  The  flower  leaves  were  be- 
ginning to  wither.  "  If  Miss  Melville  is  willing,  I  should  liko 
10  return." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  about  going  home  ?  "  cried  Meg,  turn- 
ing quickly  round.  "What  in  the  world  is  this,  Gabriella? 
YToi;  V>  ts  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost ! " 


ERNEST     LIU  WOOD.  2C3 

K  Whatever  she  has  seen,  it  is  probable  you  have  been 
equally  favored,  Miss  Melville,  since  you  were  together,"  said 
Ernest,  in  the  same  cold  undertone.  The  orchestra  was 
playing  a  magnificent  overture,  there  was  laughter  aud  merri- 
ment around  us,  so  the  conversation  in  our  box  was  not  over- 
heard. 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  Meg.  "  I  have  not  seen  any  thing  but  one 
sociable  looking  neighbor.  I  should  not  wonder  if  his  eyes  iiad 
blistered  her  face,  they  have  been  glowing  on  her  so  intensely." 

As  she  raised  her  voice,  the  stranger  turned  his  head,  and 
again  I  met  them,  —  those  strange,  basilisk  eyes.  They  seemed 
to  drink  my  heart's  blood.  It  is  scarcely  metaphorical  to  say 
so,  for  every  glance  left  a  cold,  deadly  feeling  behind. 

"  Come,  Gabriella,"  said  Ernest ;  "  if  Miss  Melville  wishes  it, 
she  can  remain  with  Mr.  Harland.  I  will  send  back  tne  car- 
riage for  them." 

"  To  be  sure  I  wish  it,"  cried  Meg.  "  They  say  the  best  part 
of  the  amusement  is  to  come.  Gabriella  has  a  poor  opinion  of 
my  nursing,  so  I  will  not  cast  my  pearls  away.  I  am  glad  / 
have  not  any  nerves,  my  dear  little  sensitive  plant.  It  is  a 
terrible  thing  to  be  too  attractive  to  venture  abroad ! " 

The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  was  uttered  in  a  whisper, 
while  suppressed  laughter  convulsed  her  frame. 

Ernest  did  not  open  his  lips  as  he  conducted  me  from  the 
theatre  to  the  carriage,  and  not  a  word  was  spoken  during  our 
homeward  ride.  The  rattling  of  the  pavements  was  a  relief  to 
the  cold  silence.  Instead  of  occupying  the  same  seat  with  me, 
Ernest  took  the  one  opposite  ;  and  as  we  passed  the  street  lamps 
they  flashed  on  his  face,  and  it  seemed  that  of  a  statue,  so  cold 
and  impressive  it  looked.  What  did  he  suspect  ?  What  had 
I  done  to  cause  this  deep  displeasure  ?  He  knew  not  of  the 
note  which  I  had  concealed,  of  the  words  which  still  hissed  in 
my  ears.  The  bold  gaze  of  the  stranger  would  naturally  excite 
his  anger  against  him,  but  why  should  it  estiange  him  from  me  ? 
I  had  yet  to  learn  the  wiles  and  the  madness  of  his  bosom 
enemy. 

When  I  took  his  hand,  as  he  assisted  me  from  the  carriage 


264  EBNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

I  started,  for  it  was  as  chill  as  ice,  and  the  fingers,  usually  so 
pliant  and  gentle  in  their  fold,  were  inflexible  as  marble.  I 
thought  I  should  have  fallen  to  the  pavement ;  but  exerting  all 
the  resolution  of  which  I  was  mistress,  I  entered  the  house,  and 
passed  under  the  dim  glitter  of  the  silvery  drapery  into  my  own 
apartment. 

I  had  barely  strength  to  reach  the  sofa,  on  which  I  sunk  in 
a  state  of  utter  exhaustion.  I  feared  I  was  going  to  faint,  and 
then  they  would  loosen  my  dress  and  discover  the  fatal  note. 

"  Wine ! "  said  I  to  the  chambermaid,  who  was  folding  my 
opera  cloak,  which  I  had  dropped  on  the  floor ;  "  give  me  wine. 
I  am  faint." 

I  remembered  the  red  wine  which  Dr.  Harlowe  gave  me,  after 
my  midnight  run  through  the  dark  woods,  and  how  it  infused 
new  life  into  my  sinking  frame.  Since  then  I  had  been  afraid 
to  drink  it,  for  the  doctor  had  laughingly  assured  me,  that  it 
had  intoxicated,  while  it  sustained.  Now,  I  wanted  strength 
and  courage,  and  it  came  to  me,  after  swallowing  the  glowing 
draught.  I  lifted  my  head,  and  met  the  cold  glance  of  Ernest 
without  shivering.  I  dared  to  speak  and  ask  him  the  cause  of 
his  anger. 

"The  cause!"  repeated  he,  his  eyes  kindling  with  passion. 
"  Who  was  the  bold  libertine,  before  whose  unlicensed  gaze  you 
olushed  and  trembled,  not  with  indignation,  such  as  a  pure  and 
innocent  woman  ought  to  feel ;  but  with  the  bashful  confusion 
the  veteran  roue  delights  to  behold  ?  Who  was  this  man,  whose 
presence  caused  you  such  overpowering  emotion,  and  who  ex- 
changed with  you  glances  of  such  mysterious  meaning  ?  Tell 
me,  for  I  will  know." 

Oh  that  I  had  dared  to  answer,  "  He  is  my  father.  Covered 
with  shame  and  humiliation,  I  acknowledge  my  parentage, 
tvhieh  makes  me  so  unworthy  to  bear  your  unsullied  name. 
My  darkened  spirit  would  hide  itself  behind  a  cloud,  to  escape 
the  villain  whom  nature  disowns  and  reason  abhors."  But,  un- 
knowing the  contents  of  the  mysterious  note,  unknowing  the 
consequences  to  himself  which  might  result  from  its  disclosure, 
iemembering  the  injunction  of  my  dying  mother,  to  be  to  him, 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  L  '!> 

a  guardian  angel  in  the  hour  of  danger,  —  I  could  not  save  my- 
self from  blame  by  revealing  the  truth.  I  could  not  stain  my 
lips  with  a  falsehood. 

"  I  never  saw  that  man  before,"  I  replied.  "  Most  husbands 
would  think  modest  confusion  more  becoming  in  a  wife,  than  the 
indignation  which  he  usually  deems  it  his  own  prerogative  to 
exhibit  If  I  have  been  insulted,  methinks  you  should  wreak 
ycur  vengeance  on  the  offender,  instead  of  me,  —  the  innocent 
sufferer.  It  would  be  more  manly." 

"  Would  you  have  had  me  make  the  theatre  a  scene  of  strife 
and  bloodshed  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No !  neither  would  I  have  you  bring  warring  passions  into 
the  peaceful  bosom  of  your  own  home." 

"  Is  this  you  ? "  he  cried,  looking  me  sternly  and  sorrow- 
fully in  the  face.  "  Is  this  the  gentle  and  tender  Gabriella,  who 
speaks  in  such  a  tone  of  bitterness  and  scorn  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  spoke  bitterly ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Oh, 
Ernest,  you  have  roused  in  me  a  spirit  of  resistance  I  tremble 
to  feel !  You  madden  me  by  your  reproaches  !  You  wrong  me 
by  your  suspicions  !  I  meant  to  be  gentle  and  forbearing ;  but 
the  worm  will  writhe  under  the  foot  that  grinds  it  into  dust. 
Alas  !  how  little  we  know  ourselves  !  " 

With  anguish  that  cannot  be  described,  I  clasped  my  hands 
tightly  over  my  heart,  that  ached  with  intolerable  pangs.  I  had 
lost  him,  —  lost  his  love,  —  lost  his  confidence.  Had  I  seen  him 
in  his  grave,  I  could  scarcely  have  felt  more  utter  desolation. 

"  I  told  you  what  I  was,"  he  cried,  the  pale  severity  of  his 
countenance  changing  to  the  most  stormy  agitation.  "  I  told  you 
that  the  cloud  which  hung  over  my  cradle  would  follow  me  to 
the  grave ;  that  suspicion  and  jealousy  were  the  twin-born 
phantoms  of  my  soul.  Why,  then,  rash  and  blind,  have  you 
committed  your  happiness  into  my  keeping  ?  You  were  warned, 
and  yet  you  hastened  to  your  doom." 

"  Because  I  believed  that  you  loved  me ;  because  I  loved 
and  trusted,  with  a  love  and  faith  more  deep  and  strong  than 
woman  ever  knew." 

"  And  I  have  destroyed  them.     I  knew  it  would  be  so.    I 


2C3  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

knew  that  I  would  prove  a  faithless  guardian  to  a  charge  too 
dear.  Gabriella,  I  am  a  wretch,  —  deserving  your  hatred 
and  indignation.  I  have  insulted  your  innocence,  by  suspicions 
I  should  blush  to  admit.  Love,  too  strong  for  reason,  converts 
me  at  times  into  a  madman.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  forgive  me  ; 
but  if  you  could  conceive  of  the  agonies  I  endure,  you  would 
pity  me,  were  I  your  direst  foe." 

Remorse,  sorrow,  tenderness,  and  love,  all  swept  over  his 
countenance,  and  gave  pathos  to  his  voice.  I  rose  and  sprang 
to  his  arms,  that  opened  to  receive  me,  and  I  clung  to  his  neck, 
and  wept  upon  his  bosom,  till  it  seemed  that  my  life  would  dis- 
solve itself  in  tears.  Oh  !  it  seemed  that  I  had  leaped  over  a 
yawning  abyss  to  reach  him,  that  I  had  found  him  just  as  I  was 
losing  him  for  ever.  I  was  once  more  in  the  banqueting-house 
of  joy,  and  "  his  banner  over  me  was  love." 

"  Never  again,  my  husband,  never  close  your  heart  against 
me.  I  have  no  other  home,  no  other  refuge,  no  other  world, 
than  your  arms." 

"  You  have  forgiven  me  too  soon,  my  Gabriella.  You  should 
impose  upon  me  some  penalty  equal  to  the  offence,  if  such  in- 
deed there  be.  Oh  !  most  willingly  would  I  cut  off  the  hand 
so  tenderly  clasped  in  yours  and  cast  it  into  the  flames,  if  by 
so  doing  I  could  destroy  the  fiend  who  tempts  me  to  suspect 
fidelity,  worthy  of  eternal  trust.  You  think  I  give  myself  up 
without  a  struggle  to  the  demon  passion,  in  whose  grasp  you 
have  seen  me  writhing ;  but  you  know  not,  dream  not,  how  I 
wrestle  with  it  in  secret,  and  what  prayers  I  send  up  to  God  for 
deliverance.  It  seems  impossible  now  that  I  should  ever  doubt 
jver  wrong  you  again,  and  yet  I  dare  not  promise.  Oh  !  I 
dare  not  promise ;  for  when  the  whirlwind  of  passion  rises,  I 
know  not  what  I  do." 

Had  I  not  been  conscious  that  I  was  concealing  something 
from  him,  that  while  he  was  restoring  to  me  his  confidence,  I 
was  deceiving  him,  I  should  have  been  perfectly  happy  in  this 
hour  of  reconciliation.  But  as  he  again  and  again  clasped  me 
to  his  bosom,  and  lavished  upon  me  the  tenderest  caresses,  I  in- 
voluntarily shrunk  from  the  pressure,  lest  he  should  feel  the 


EBNEST    LINWOOD.  267 

note,  which  seemed  to  flutter,  so  quick  and  loud  my  heart  beat 
against  it. 

u  "We  are  neither  of  us  fit  for  the  fashionable  world,  my 
Gabriella,"  said  he ;  "  we  have  hearts  and  souls  fitted  for  a 
purer,  holier  atmosphere  than  the  one  we  now  breathe.  If  we 
had  some  '  bright  little  isle  of  our  own,'  where  we  were  safe 
from  jarring  contact  with  ruder  natures,  remote  from  the  social 
disturbances  which  interrupt  the  harmony  of  life,  where  we 
could  live  for  love  and  God,  then,  my  Gabriella,  I  would  not 
envy  the  angels  around  the  throne.  No  scene  like  this  to-night 
would  ever  mar  the  heaven  of  our  wedded  bliss. " 

Ernest  did  not  know  himself.  Even  in  Crusoe's  desert  isle, 
if  the  print  of  human  footsteps  were  discovered  on  the  sand, 
and  had  he  flown  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  the  phan- 
tom created  by  his  own  diseased  imagination  would  have  pur- 
sued him  like  the  giant  form  that  haunted  from  pole  to  pole  the 
unhappy  Frankenstein.  Man  cannot  escape  from  his  own  pas- 
sions ;  and  in  solitude  their  waves  beat  against  his  bosom,  like 
the  eternal  dashing  of  the  tide,  scarcely  perceived  amidst  the 
active  sounds  of  day,  but  roaring  and  thundering  in  the  deep 
stillness  of  the  midnight  hour. 

"  We  were  happy  here  before  Margaret  came,"  I  answered ; 
"  happy  as  it  was  possible  for  mortals  to  be.  How  strange  that 
she  should  have  come  unasked,  remain  unurged,  without  drearn- 
ing  of  the  possibility  of  her  being  otherwise  than  a  welcome 
guest ! " 

"  There  should  be  laws  to  prevent  households  from  such  in 
trusions,"  said  Ernest,  with  warmth.  "  I  consider  such  persons 
as  great  offenders  against  the  peace  of  society  as  the  midnight 
robber  or  the  lurking  assassin.  Margaret  Melville  cares  for 
nothing  but  her  own  gratification.  A  contemptible  love  of  fun 
and  frolic  is  the  ruling  passion  of  her  life.  How  false,  how 
artificial  is  that  system  where  there  is  no  redress  for  encroach 
ments  of  this  kind !  Were  I  to  act  honestly  and  as  I  ought,  1 
should  say  to  her  at  once,  'leave  us,  —  your  presence  is  intol- 
erable,- -there  is  no  more  affinity  between  us  than  between 


268  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

glass  and  brass.'  But  what  would  my  mother  say?  What 
would  the  world  say  ?  What  would  you  say,  my  own  dear 
•wife,  who  desire  her  departure  even  as  I  do  myself?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  much  shocked,  of  course.  If  she  had  the 
least  sensitiveness  or  delicacy  of  feeling,  she  would  read  all  this 
in  your  countenance  and  manners.  I  often  fear  she  will  per- 
ceive in  mine,  the  repulsion  I  cannot  help  experiencing.  For 
your  mother's  sake  I  wish  to  be  kind  to  Margaret." 

"  Do  you  know,  Gabriella,  she  once  wished  me  to  think  of 
her  as  a  wife?  That  was  before  her  character  was  formed, 
however,  —  when  its  wild,  untamable  elements  revelled  in  the 
morning  freedom  of  girlhood,  and  reason  and  judgment  were 
not  expected  to  exert  their  restraining  influence.  Think  of 
such  an  union,  my  flower-girl,  my  Mimosa.  Do  I  deserve 
quite  so  severe  a  punishment  ?  " 

"  You  would  have  lived  in  a  perpetual  fever  of  jealousy,  or  a 
state  of  open  anarchy.  There  would  have  been  some  memora- 
ble scenes  in  your  diary,  I  am  certain." 

"  Jealousy !  The  idea  of  being  jealous  of  such  a  being  aa 
Margaret !  The  '  rhinoceran  bear '  might  inspire  the  passion  as 
Boon.  No,  Gabriella,  I  do  not  believe  I  could  be  jealous  of 
another  woman  in  the  world,  for  I  cannot  conceive  of  the  possi- 
bility of  my  ever  loving  another ;  and  the  intensity  of  my  love 
creates  a  trembling  fear,  that  a  treasure  so  inestimable,  so  un- 
speakably dear,  may  be  snatched  from  my  arms.  It  is  not  so 
much  distrust  of  you,  as  myself.  I  fear  the  casket  is  not 
worthy  of  the  jewel  it  enshrines." 

"  Be  just  to  yourself,  Ernest,  and  then  you  will  be  just  to  all 
mankind." 

"  The  truth  is,  Gabriella,  I  have  no  self-esteem.  A  cele- 
brated German  phrenologist  examined  my  head,  and  pronounced 
it  decidedly  deficient  in  the  swelling  organ  of  self-apprecia- 
tion." 

He  took  my  hand  and  placed  it  on  his  head,  amid  his  soft, 
luxuriant  dark  hair,  and  it  certainly  met  no  elevation.  I  was 
wot  skilled  in  the  science  of  phrenology,  and  there  might  be  a 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  £69 

defect  in  the  formation  of  his  head ;  but  on  his  nolile  brow,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  "  every  God  had  set  its  seal,"  and  left  the 
impress  of  his  own  divinity. 

"We  started,  for  the  steps  of  Madge  were  heard  rushing  up 
the  marble  stairs,  and  the  sound  of  her  laugh  swept  before  her, 
and  pressed  against  the  door  like  a  strong  gale. 

Oh  Madge !  that  any  one  should  ever  have  thought  of  you 
aa  the  wife  of  Ernest. 


fMIAPTER    XXXV, 

IT  was  not  till  the  next  morning  that  I  dared  to  read  the 
contents  of  the  note.  It  was  in  the  magnificent  bathing-room, 
on  whose  retirement  no  one  ever  intruded,  that  I  perused  these 
pencilled  lines,  evidently  written  with  a  hasty  and  agitated 
hand. 

"  Can  it  be  that  I  have  found  a  daughter  ?  Yes !  in  those 
lovely  features  I  trace  the  living  semblance  of  my  beloved 
Rosalie.  Where  is  she,  my  child  ?  Where  is  your  angel 
mother,  whom  I  have  sought  sorrowing  so  many  years  ?  They 
tell  me  that  you  are  married,  —  that  it  is  your  husband  who 
watches  you  with  such  jealous  scrutiny.  He  must  not  know 
who  I  am.  I  am  a  reckless,  desperate  man.  It  would  be  dan- 
gerous to  us  both  to  meet.  Guard  my  secret  as  you  expect  to 
find  your  grave  peaceful,  your  eternity  free  from  remorse. 
When  can  I  see  you  alone  ?  Where  can  I  meet  you  ?  I  am 
in  danger,  distress,  —  ruin  and  death  are  hanging  over  me,  — 
I  must  flee  from  the  city ;  but  I  must  see  you,  my  child,  my 
sweet,  my  darling  Gabriella.  I  must  learn  the  fate  of  my  lost 
Rosalie. 

"  The  curtain  falls,  —  I  dare  not  write  more.  Walk  in  the 

Park  to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  where  I  will  wait 

your  coming.  Come  alone,  —  I  ask  only  a  few  moments.  A 
father  pleads  with  his  child !  As  you  hope  for  an  answer  to 
your  dying  prayers,  come,  child  of  my  Rosalie,  —  child  of  my 
own  sad  heart." 

Once,  —  twice,  —  thrice  I  read  these  lines,  —  the  death-war- 
rant of  my  wedded  peace.  Plow  could  I  resist  so  solemn  an 
appeal,  without  violating  the  commands  of  a  dying  mother  ? 
How  lould  I  meet  him,  without  incurring  the  displeasure  of  mj 
(270) 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  271 

husband?  What  possibility  was  there  of  my  leaving  home 
alone,  when  Ernest  scarcely  ever  left  me  ;  when,  after  his  re- 
turn, if  he  chanced  to  go  out,  he  always  asked  me  how  I  had 
passed  the  time  of  his  absence  ?  How  could  I  preserve  out- 
ward composure,  with  such  a  secret  burning  in  my  heart  ?  A 
sigh,  involuntarily  breathed,  —  a  tear,  forcing  its  way  beneath 
the  quivering  lash,  would  expose  me  to  suspicion  and  distress. 
What  could  I,  should  I  do  ?  I  was  alone,  now  ;  and  I  yielded 
momentarily  to  an  agony  of  apprehension,  that  almost  drove 
me  mad.  On  one  side,  a  guilty,  ruined  parent ;  on  the  other,  a 
jealous  husband,  whose  anger  was  to  me  a  consuming  fire.  No, 
no  ;  I  could  never  expose  myself  again  to  that.  I  trembled  at 
the  recollection  of  those  pale,  inflexible  features,  and  that  eye 
of  stormv  splendor.  The  lightning  bolt  was  less  terrible  and 
scathing.  Yet,  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  a  father's  prayer ;  to  dis- 
regard a  mother's  injunction;  to  incur,  perhaps,  the  guilt  of 
parricide;  to  hazard  the  judgments  of  the  Almighty; — how 
awful  the  alternative ! 

I  sank  down  on  my  knees,  and  laid  my  head  on  the  marble 
slab  on  which  I  had  been  seated.  I  tried  to  pray ;  but  hysteri- 
cal sobs  choked  my  words. 

"  Have  pity  upon  me,  O  my  heavenly  Father ! "  at  length  I 
exclaimed,  raising  my  clasped  hands  to  heaven.  "  Have  pity 
upon  me,  and  direct  me  in  the  right  path.  Give  me  courage  to 
do  right,  and  leave  the  result  unto  Thee.  I  float  on  a  stormy 
current,  without  pilot  or  helm.  I  sink  beneath  the  whelming 
billows.  Help,  Lord  !  or  I  perish  !  " 

Before  I  rose  from  my  knees,  it  seemed  as  if  invisible  arms 
surrounded  me,  —  bearing  me  up,  above  the  dark  and  troubled 
waters.  I  felt  as  if  God  would  open  a  way  for  me  to  walk  in  ; 
and  I  resolved  to  leave  the  event  in  his  hands.  Had  I  applied 
to  an  earthly  counsellor,  with  wisdom  to  direct,  they  might  have 
told  me,  that  one  who  had  been  guilty  of  the  crime  my  father 
had  committed,  had  forfeited  every  claim  on  a  daughter's  heart 
That  I  had  no  right  to  endanger  a  husband's  happiness,  or  to 
sacriiice  my  own  peace,  in  consequence  of  his  rash  demand. 
No  instinctive  attraction  drew  me  to  this  mysterious  man.  In- 


272  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

stead  of  the  yearnings  of  filial  affection,  T  felt  for  him  an  uncon 
querable  repugnance.     His  letter  touched  me,  but  his  counte- 
nance repelled.     His  bold,  unreceding  eye  ;  —  not  thus  should 
a  father  gaze  upon  his  child. 

Upon  what  apparent  trifles  the  events  of  our  life  sometimes 
depend !  At  the  breakfast  table,  Madge  suddenly  asked  what 
day  of  the  month  it  was. 

Then  I  remembered  that  it  was  the  day  appointed  for  a  meet 
ing  of  the  ladies  composing  a  benevolent  association,  of  which 
I  had  been  lately  made  a  member.  After  the  conversation 
with  Ernest,  in  which  I  had  expressed  such  an  anxiety  to  do 
good,  he  had  supplied  me  bountifully  with  means,  so  that  my 
purse  was  literally  overflowing.  I  had  met  the  society  once, 
and  had  gone  alone.  The  hour  of  the  meeting  was  ten.  What 
a  coincidence !  Was  Providence  opening  a  way  in  which  my 
doubting  feet  should  walk  ?  When  I  mentioned  the  day  of  the 
month,  I  added, 

"  Our  Society  for  the  Relief  of  Invalid  Seamstresses  meets 
this  morning.  I  had  forgotten  it,  till  your  question  reminded 
me  that  this  was  the  day." 

"  Do  not  your  coffers  need  replenishing,  fair  Lady  Bounti- 
ful?" asked  Ernest.  "This  is  an  association  founded  on 
principles  which  I  revere.  If  any  class  of  females  merit  the 
sympathy  and  kind  offices  of  the  generous  sisterhood,  it  is  that, 
whose  services  are  so  ill  repaid,  and  whose  lives  must  be  one 
long  drawn  sigh  of  weariness  and  anxiety.  Give,  my  Gabriella 
to  your  heart's  content ;  and  if  one  pale  cheek  is  colored  with 
the  glow  of  hope,  one  dim  eye  lighted  with  joy,  something  will 
be  added  to  the  sum  of  human  happiness." 

Ernest  was  unusualiy  kind  and  tender.  He  watched  me  as 
the  fond  mother  does  the  child,  whom  she  has  perhaps  too  se- 
verely chided.  He  seemed  to  wish  to  atone  for  the  pain  he  had 
given,  and  to  assure  me  by  his  manner  that  his  confidence  was 
perfectly  restored. 

"  1  shall  avail  myself  of  your  absence,"  said  he,  "to  pay  some 
of  my  epistolary  debts.  They  have  weighed  heavy  on  my  con- 
icience  for  some  time." 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  273 

"  And  I,"  said  Madge,  "  have  engaged  to  spend  the  day  with 
Miss  Haven.  You  can  drop  me  on  the  way." 

Madge  had  behaved  unusually  well  during  the  morning, 
and  did  not  harass  me  at  the  breakfast  table,  as  I  feared  she 
would,  about  the  bold  stranger  at  the  theatre.  Perhaps  my 
pale  cheeks  spoke  too  plainly  of  the  sufferings  of  the  evening, 
and  she  had  a  heart  after  all. 

As  I  went 'into  my  room  to  prepare  for  going  out,  my  hands 
trembled  so  that  I  could  scarcely  fasten  the  ribbons  of  my  bon- 
net. Every  thing  seemed  to  facilitate  my  filial  duty ;  but  the 
more  easy  seemed  its  accomplishment,  the  more  I  shrunk  from 
the  thought,  of  deceiving  Ernest,  in  this  hour  of  restored  tran- 
quidity  and  abounding  love.  I  loathed  the  idea  of  deceiving  any 
one.  —  but  Ernest,  my  lover,  my  husband,  —  how  could  I  be- 
guile his  new-born  confidence  ?  " 

He  came  in,  and  wrapped  me  up  in  my  ermine-trimmed 
cloak,  warning  me  of  exposing  myself  to  the  morning  air,  which 
was  of  wintry  bleakness. 

"  You  must  bring  back  the  roses  which  I  have  banished  from 
your  cheeks,"  said  he,  kissing  them  with  a  tenderness  and  gen- 
tleness that  made  -my  heart  ache  with  anguish.  I  did  not  de- 
serve these  caresses  ;  and  if  my  purpose  were  discovered,  would 
they  not  be  the  last  ? 

Shuddering,  as  I  asked  myself  this  question,  I  turned  to- 
wards him,  as  if  to  daguerreotype  on  my  heart  every  lineament 
of  his  striking  and  expressive  face.  How  beautiful  was  hid 
countenance  this  moment,  softened  by  tenderness,  so  delicately 
pale,  yet  so  lustrous,  like  the  moonlight  night ! 

"  Oh,  Ernest ! "  said  I,  throwing  my  arms  around  him,  with  a 
burst  of  irrepressible  emotion,  "  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  love  you 
bear  me,  but  yet  I  prize  it  far  more  than  life.  If  the  hour 
comes  when  it  is  withdrawn  from  me,  I  pray  Heaven  it  may  be 
my  last." 

"  It  can  never  be  withdrawn,  my  Gabriella.  You  may  cast 
it  from  your  bosom,  and  it  may  wither,  like  the  flower  trampled 
by  the  foot  of  man  ;  but  by  ray  own  act  it  never  can  be  de- 
stroyed. Nor  by  yours  either,  my  beloved  wife.  At  this 


274  EKNEST     L  I  N  "W  O  O  D  . 

moment  I  have  a  trust  in  you  as  entire  as  in  heaven  itself.  I 
look  back  with  wonder  and  remorse  on  the  dark  delusions  tx> 
which  I  have  submitted  myself.  But  the  spell  is  broken  ;  the 
demon  laid.  Sorrow  has  had  its  season  ;  but  joy  hath  come  in 
the  morning.  Smile,  my  darling  Gabriella,  in  token  of  forgive- 
ness ind  peace." 

I  tried  to  smile,  but  the  tears  would  gather  into  my  eye«. 

"  Foolish  girl ! "  he  cried.  A  loud  laugh  rung  under  the 
eilken  arches.  Madge  stood  in  the  open  door,  her  great  black 
eyes  brimming  with  mirth. 

"  When  you  have  finished  your  parting  ceremonies,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  I  think  we  had  better  start.  One  would  think  you 
were  going  to  Kamschatka  or  Terra  del  Fuego,  instead  of  Broad- 
way. Oh  dear !  what  a  ridiculous  thing  it  is  to  see  people  in 
love  with  each  other,  after  they  are  married  !  Come,  Gabriella; 
you  can  carry  his  miniature  with  you." 

As  the  carriage  rolled  from  the  gate,  I  was  so  agitated  at  the 
thought  of  the  approaching  interview  I  could  not  speak. 
Madge  rattled  away,  in  her  usual  light  manner ;  but  I  did  not 
attempt  to  answer  her.  I  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  revolv- 
ing the  best  way  of  accomplishing  my  de.-ign.  After  leaving 
Madge,  instead  of  going  to  the  lady's,  at  who.se  house  the  society 
met,  I  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  one  of  the  fashionable 
stores  and  leave  me. 

"Return  in  an  hour,"  said  I,  as  I  left  the  carriage.  "You 
will  find  me  at  Mrs.  Brahan's.  Drive  the  horses  oat  to  the 
Battery  for  exercise,  as  you  usually  do." 

As  I  gave  these  orders,  my  heart  beat  so  fast  I  could  hard- 
ly articulate  with  distinctness.  Yet  there  was  nothing  in  them 
to  excite  suspicion.  The  horses  were  high-fed  and  little  used, 
gay  and  spirited,  and  when  we  shopped  or  made  morning  calls, 
the  coachman  was  in  the  habit  of  driving  them  about,  to  subdue 
their  fiery  speed. 

I  should  make  too  conspicuous  an  appearance  in  the  park,  in 
my  elegant  cloak,  trimmed  with  costly  ermine  and  bonnet 
shaded  with  snowy  plumes.  I  would  be  recognized  at  once, 
for  the  bride  of  the  jealous  Ernest  was  an  object  of  interest 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  275 

and  curiosity.  To  obviate  this  difficulty,  I  purchased  a  large 
gray  shawl,  of  soft,  yielding  material,  that  completely  covered 
my  cloak ;  a  thick,  green  veil,  through  which  my  features  could 
not  be  discerned,  and  walked  with  rapid  steps  through  the  hur- 
rying erovvd  that  thronged  the  side-walks  towards  the  

Park. 

It  was  too  early  an  hour  for  the  usual  gathering  of  children 
and  nurses.  Indeed,  at  this  cold,  wintry  season,  the  warm 
nursery  was  a  more  comfortable  and  enticing  place. 

The  park  presented  a  dreary,  desolate  aspect.  No  fountain 
tossed  up  its  silvery  waters,  falling  in  rainbows  back  to  earth. 
The  leafless  branches  of  the  trees  shone  coldly  in  the  thin  glaz- 
ing of  frostwork  and  creaked  against  each  other,  as  the  bleak 
wind  whistled  through  them.  Here  and  there,  a  ruddy-faced  Irish 
woman,  wrapped  in  a  large  blanket-shawl,  with  a  coarse  straw 
bonnet  blown  back  from  her  head,  breasted  the  breeze  with  a 
little  trotting  child,  who  took  half  a  dozen  steps  to  one  of  hers, 
tugging  hard  at  her  hand.  It  was  not  likely  I  should  meet  a 
fashionable  acquaintance  at  this  early  hour ;  and  if  I  did,  I  was 
shrouded  from  recognition. 

I  had  scarcely  passed  the  revolving  gate,  before  I  saw  a  gen- 
tleman approaching  from  the  opposite  entrance  with  rapid  and 
decided  steps.  He  was  tall  and  stately,  and  had  that  unmis- 
takable air  of  high-breeding  which,  being  once  acquired,  can 
never  be  entirely  lost.  As  he  came  nearer,  I  could  distinguish 
the  features  of  the  stranger  ;  features  which,  seen  by  daylight, 
exhibited  still  more  plainly  the  stamp  of  recklessness,  dissipa- 
tion, and  vice.  They  had  once  been  handsome,  but  alasl 
alas  !  was  this  the  man  who  had  captivated  the  hearts  of  two 
lovely  women,  and  then  broken  them  ?  Where  was  the  fascina- 
tion which  had  enthralled  alike  the  youthful  Rosalie  and  the 
impassioned  Theresa  ?  Was  this,  indeed,  the  once  gallant  and 
long  beloved  St.  James  ? 

"  You  have  come,"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly  grasping  my  hand 
and  pressing  it  in  his.  "  I  bless  you,  my  daughter,  —  and 
may  God  forever  bless  you  for  listening  to  a  father's  prayer ! " 

"  I  have  oome,"  I  answered,  in  low,  trembling  accents,  for  in- 
18 


276  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

describable  agitation  almost  choked  my  utterance,  —  u  but  I  can 
not, — dare  not  linger.  It  was  cruel  in  you  to  bind  me  te 
secrecy.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  mother,  —  whose  dying 
words  "  — 

"And  is  she  dead, —  the  wronged,  —  the  angel  Rosalie? 
How  vainly  I  have  sought  her,  —  and  thee,  my  cherub  little 
one  !  My  sufferings  have  avenged  her  wrongs." 

He  turned  away,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 
I  saw  his  breast  heave  with  suppressed  sobs.  It  is  an  awful 
thing  to  see  a  strong  man  weep, — especially  when  the  tears  are 
wrung  by  the  agonies  of  remorse.  I  felt  for  him  the  most  in 
tense  pity,  —  the  most  entire  forgiveness,  —  yet  I  recoiled  from 
his  approach,  —  I  shrunk  from  the  touch  of  his  dry  and  nervous 
hand.  I  felt  polluted,  degraded,  by  the  contact. 

"My  mother  told  me,  if  I  ever  met  you,  to  give  you  not  only 
her  forgiveness,  but  her  blessing.  She  blessed  you,  for  the  suf- 
ferings that  weaned  her  from  earth  and  chastened  her  spirit 
for  a  holier  and  happier  world.  She  bade  me  tell  you,  that  in 
spite  of  her  wrongs  she  had  never  ceased  to  love  you.  In  obe- 
dience to  her  dying  will,  I  have  shown  you  a  daughter's  duty  so 
far  as  to  meet  you  here,  and  learn  what  I  can  do  for  one  placed 
in  the  awful  circumstances  in  which  you  declare  yourself  to  be. 
Speak  quickly  and  briefly,  for  on  every  passing  moment  the 
whole  happiness  of  my  life  hangs  trembling." 

"  Only  let  me  see  your  face  for  the  few  moments  we  are 
together,  that  I  may  carry  its  remembrance  to  my  grave, — 
that  face  so  like  your  mother's." 

"  What  can  I  do  ? "  I  exclaimed,  removing  the  veil  as  I 
spoke,  —  for  there  was  no  one  near;  and  I  could  not  refuse  a 
petition  so  earnest.  "  Oh,  tell  me  quickly  what  I  can  do. 
What  dreadful  doom  is  impending  over  you  ?  " 

"You  are  beautiful,  my  child,  —  very,  very  beautiful,"  said 
he ;  while  his  dark,  sunken  eyes  seemed  to  burn  me  with  the 
intensity  of  their  gaze. 

"  Talk  not  to  me  of  beauty,  at  a  moment  like  this ! "  I  ex- 
claimed, stamping  my  foot  in  the  agony  of  my  impatience.  "  I 
cannot,  will  not  stay,  unless 'to  aid  you.  Your  presence  is 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  277 

awful !  for  it  reminds  me  of  my  mother's  wrongs,  —  my  own 
clouded  birth." 

"  I  deserve  this,  and  far  more,"  he  cried,  in  tones  of  the  most 
abject  humility.  "  Oh,  my  child,  I  am  brought  very  low  ;  —  I  am 
't  lost  and  ruined  man.  Maddened  by  your  mother's  desertion, 
I  became  reckless,  —  desperate.  I  fled  from  the  home  another 
had  usurped.  I  became  the  prey  of  villains,  who  robbed  mo 
of  my  fortune  at  the  gaming  table.  Another,  and  another  step  ; 
—  lower  and  lower  still  I  sunk.  I  cannot  tell  you  the  story  of 
my  ruin.  Enough,  I  am  lost !  The  sword  of  the  violated  law- 
gleams  over  my  head.  Every  moment  it  may  fall.  I  dare  not 
remain  another  day  in  this  city.  I  dare  not  stay  in  my  native 
land.  If  I  do,  yonder  dismal  Tombs  will  be  my  life-long 
abode." 

"  Fly,  then,  —  fly  this  moment,"  I  cried.     "  What  madness 
to  linger  in  the  midst  of  danger  and  disgrace  !  " 

"  Alas !  my  daughter,  I  am  penniless.  I  had  laid  aside  a 
large  sum,  sufficient  for  the  emergency ;  but  a  wretch  robbed 
me  of  all,  only  two  nights  since.  Humiliating  as  it  is,  I  must 
turn  beggar  to  my  child.  Your  husband  is  a  Dives ;  I,  the 
Lazarus,  who  am  perishing  at  his  gate." 

'Ask  him.  He  is  noble  and  generous.  He  will  fill  your 
purse  with  gold,  and  aid  you  to  escape.  Go  to  him  at  once. 
You  know  not  his  princely  heart." 

"  Never !  On  you  alone  I  depend.  I  will  not  ask  a  favor 
of  man,  to  save  my  soul  from  perdition.  Girl !  have  you  no 
power  over  the  wealth  that  must  be  rusting  in  your  coffers  ? 
Are  you  not  trusted  with  the  key  to  your  household  treasures?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  take  his  gold  clandestinely  ? "  I 
asked,  glowing  with  indignation,  and  recoiling  from  the  expres- 
sion of  his  eager,  burning  eye.  "We  were  walking  slowly  during 
this  exciting  conversation  ;  and,  cold  as  it  was,  the  moisture 
gathered  on  my  brow.  "  Here  is  a  purse,  given  me  for  a  holier 
purpose.  Take  it,  and  let  me  go." 

"Thank  you,  —  bless  you,  my  child!  but  this  will  only  re- 
lieve present  necessity.  It  will  not  carry  me  in  safety  to  dis 


2/3  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

tant  climes.     Bless  you !  but  take  it  back,  take  it  b"ok.    I  cac 
only  meet  my  doom ! " 

"  I  will  go  to  my  husband !  "  I  exclaimed  with  sudden  reso- 
lution ;  "  I  will  tell  him  all,  and  he,  and  he  alone  shall  aid  you, 
I  will  not  wrong  him  by  acting  without  his  knowledge.  You 
have  no  right  to  endanger  my  lifelong  peace.  You  have  de- 
stroyed my  mother;  must  her  child  too  be  sacrificed?" 

"  I  see  there  is  but  one  path  of  escape,"  he  cried,  snatching  a 
pistol  from  his  breast,  and  turning  the  muzzle  to  his  heart 
"  Fool,  dolt,  idiot  that  I  am !  I  dreamed  of  salvation  from  a 
daughter's  hand,  but  I  have  forfeited  a  father's  name,  a  father's 
affection.  Gabriella,  you  might  save  me,  but  I  blame  you  not. 
Do  not  curse  me,  though  I  fill  a  felon's  grave ;  —  better  that 
than  the  dungeon  —  the  scaffold." 

"What  would  you  do?"  I  whispered  hoarsely,  seizing  hia 
arm  with  spasmodic  grasp. 

"  Die,  before  I  am  betrayed." 

"  I  will  not  betray  you ;  what  sum  will  suffice  for  your 
emergency?  Name  it." 

"As  many  thousands  as  there  are  hundreds  there,"  pointing  to 
the  purse. 

"  Good  heavens  ! " 

"  Gabriella,  you  must  have  jewels  worth  a  prince's  ransom  t 
you  had  diamonds  last  night  o*r  your  neck  and  arms  that  would 
redeem  your  father's  life.  Each  gem  is  but  a  drop  of  water  in 
the  deep  sea  of  his  riches.  His  uncle  was  a  modern  Croesus, 
and  he,  his  sole  heir." 

"  How  know  you  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Every  one  knows  it.  The  rich  are  the  cities  on  the  hill- 
tops, seen  afar  off.  You  hesitate,  —  you  tremble.  Keep  your 
diamonds,  —  but  remember  they  will  eat  like  burning  coals  into 
your  flesh." 

Fierce  and  deadly  passions  gleamed  from  his  eye.  He 
clenched  the  pistol  so  tight  that  his  nails  turned  of  a  purplish 
blue. 

No  one  was  near  us,  to  witness  a  scene  so  strange  and  appall- 
ing. The  thundering  sounds  of  city  life  were  rolling  along  the 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  27<t 

great  thoroughfare  of  the  metropolis,  now  rattling,  shrill,  and 
startling,  then  roaring,  swelling,  and  subsiding  again,  like  the 
distant  surf;  but  around  us,  there  was  silence  and  space.  In 
the  brief  moment  that  we  stood  face  to  face,  my  mind  was  at 
work  with  preternatural  activity.  I  remembered  that  I  had  a 
set  of  diamonds,  —  the  bridal  gift  of  Mrs.  Linwood,  —  a  superb 
and  costly  set,  which  I  had  left  a  week  previous  in  the  hands  of 
the  jeweller,  that  he  might  remedy  a  slight  defect  in  the  clasps. 
Those  which  I  wore  at  the  theatre,  and  which  had  attracted  his 
insatiate  eye,  were  the  gift  of  Ernest.  He  had  clapped  them 
around  my  neck  and  arms,  as  he  was  about  to  lead  me  to  the 
altar,  and  hallowed  the  offering  with  a  bridegroom's  kiss.  1 
could  have  given  my  heart's  blood  sooner  than  the  radiant  pledge 
of  wedded  faith  and  love. 

I  could  go  to  the  jewellers,  —  get  possession  of  the  diamonds, 
and  thus  redeem  my  guilty  parent  from  impending  ruin.  Then, 
the  waves  of  the  Atlantic  would  roll  between  us,  and  I  would 
be  spared  the  humiliation  and  agony  of  another  scene  like  this. 
I  told  him  to  follow  me  at  a  short  distance  ;  that  I  would  get  the 
jewels  ;  that  he  could  receive  them  from  me  in  the  street  in  the 
midst  of  the  jostling  crowd  without  observation. 

"  It  is  the  last  time,"  I  cried,  "  the  last  time  I  ever  act  with, 
out  my  husband's  knowledge.  I  have  obeyed  my  mother,  I 
have  fulfilled  my  duty,  at  the  risk  of  all  my  soul  holds  dear 
And  now,  as  you  hope  to  meet  hereafter  her,  who,  if  angels  can 
sorrow,  still  mourns  over  your  transgressions,  quit  the  dark 
path  you  are  now  treading,  and  devote  your  future  life  to  peni- 
tence and  prayer.  Oh  !  by  my  mother's  wrongs  and  woes,  and 
by  my  own,  by  the  mighty  power  of  God  and  a  Saviour's 
dying  love,  I  entreat  you  to  repent,  forsake  your  sins,  and  live, 
live,  forever  more." 

Tears  gushed  from  my  eyes  and  checked  my  utterance.  Oh ! 
how  sad,  how  dreadful,  to  address  a  father  thus. 

"  Gabriella  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  an  angel.  Pray  for  me, 
pray  for  me,  thou  pure  and  holy  being,  and  forgive  the  sins  that 
you  say  are  not  beyond  the  reach  of  God's  mercy,  I  dare  not, 


280  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

not  here,  —  yet  for  one  dear  embrace,  my  child,  I  would  wil- 
lingly meet  the  tortures  of  the  prison-house  and  the  scaffold." 

I  recoiled  with  horror  at  the  suggestion.  I  would  not  have 
had  his  arms  around  me  for  worlds.  I  could  not  call  him 
father.  I  pitied, —  wept  for  him;  but  I  shrunk  with  loathing 
from  his  presence.  Diopping  my  veil  over  my  face,  I  turned 
hastily,  gained  the  street,  pressed  on  through  the  moving  mass 
without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  till  I  reached  the  shop  where 
my  jewels  were  deposited,  —  took  them  without  waiting  for  ex- 
planation or  inquiry,  hurried  back  till  I -met  St.  James,  slipped 
the  casket  into  his  eager  hand,  and  pressed  on  without  uttc.ring 
a  syllable.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance as  he  received  the  casket.  The  fierce,  wild,  exulting 
flash  of  his  dark  sunken  eye,  whose  reddish  blackness  seemed 
suddenly  to  ignite  and  burn  like  heated  iron.  There  was 
something  demoniac  in  its  glare,  and  it  haunted  me  in  my 
dreams  long,  long  afterwards. 

I  did  not  look  back,  but  hurried  on,  rejoicing  that  rapidity  of 
motion  was  too  customary  in  Broadway  to  attract  attention.  Be- 
fore I  arrived  at  the  place  of  meeting,  I  wished  to  divest  myself 
of  the  shawl  which  I  had  used  as  a  disguise;  and  it  was  no 
difficult  matter,  where  poverty  is  met  in  all  its  forms  of  wretch- 
edness and  woe. 

"  Take  this,  my  good  woman,"  said  I,  throwing  the  soft  gray 
covering  over  the  shoulders  of  a  thin,  shivering,  haggard  look- 
ing female,  on  whose  face  chill  penury  was  written  in  wither- 
ing lines.  You  are  cold  and  suffering." 

"  Bless  your  sweet  face.  God  Almighty  bless  you  ! "  was 
•wafted  to  my  ears,  in  tremulous  accents,  —  for  I  did  not  stop  to 
meet  her  look  of  wonder,  gratitude,  and  ecstasy.  I  did  not  de- 
serve her  blessing  ;  but  the  garment  sheltered  her  meagre  frame, 
and  she  went  on  her  way  rejoicing. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

WHEN  I  entered  Mrs.  Brahan's  drawing-room,  I  was  in  a 
kind  of  somnambulism,  —  moving,  walking,  seeing,  yet  hardly 
conscious  of  what  I  was  doing,  or  what  was  passing  around  me. 
She  was  the  president  of  the  association,  and  a  very  charming 
woman. 

"  We  feared  we  were  not  going  to  see  you  this  morning,"  she 
said,  glancing  at  a  French  clock,  which  showed  the  lateness  of 
the  hour ;  "  but  we  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  have  you  with  us, 
even  for  a  short  time.  We  know,"  she  added,  with  a  smile 
"  what  a  sacrifice  we  impose  on  Mr.  Linwood,  when  we  deprive 
him  of  your  society." 

"  Yes ! "  cried  a  sprightly  young  lady,  with  whom  I  was 
slightly  acquainted,  "  we  all  consider  it  an  event,  when  we  can 
catch  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Linwood.  Her  appearance  at  the  thea- 
tre last  night  created  as  great  a  sensation  as  would  a  new  con- 
stellation in  the  zodiac." 

These  allusions  to  my  husband's  exclusive  devotion  brought 
the  color  to  my  cheeks,  and  the  soft,  warm  air  of  the  room 
Btole  soothingly  round  me.  I  tried  to  rouse  myself  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  present,  and  apologized  for  my  delay  with 
more  ease  and  composure  than  I  expected. 

When  the  treasurer  received  the  usual  funds,  I  was  obliged  to 
throw  myself  on  her  leniency. 

"  I  have  disposed  of  my  purse  since  I  left  home,"  said  I, 
With  a  guilty  blush,  "  but  I  will  double  my  contribution  at  the 
next  meeting." 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  was  the  reply.  "  You  have  already  mer 
Your  responsibilities,  —  far  more  than  met  them,  —  your  repu« 

(281) 


282  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

tation  for  benevolence  is  already  too  well  established  for  us  '*» 
doubt  that  your  will  is  equal  to  your  power." 

Whenever  I  went  into  society,  I  realized  the  distinction  of 
being  the  wife  of  the  rich  and  exclusive  Ernest  Linwood,  the 
mistress  of  the  oriental  palace,  as  Mrs.  Brahan  called  our  dwell- 
ing-place. I  always  found  myself  flattered  and  caressed,  and 
perhaps  something  was  owing  to  personal  attraction.  I  never 
presumed  on  the  distinction  awarded  me ;  never  made  myself  or 
mine  the  subjects  of  conversation,  or  sought  to  engross  the  atten- 
tion of  others.  I  had  always  remembered  the  obscurity  of  my 
early  life,  the  cloud  upon  my  birth,  not  abjectly,  but  proudly.  I 
was  too  proud  to  arrogate  to  myself  any  credit  for  the  adven- 
titious circumstances  which  had  raised  me  above  the  level  of 
others,  —  too  proud  of  the  love  that  had  given  the  elevation, 
to  exalt  myself  as  worthy  of  it. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  the  happiest  being  in  the  world,  Mrs. 
Linwood,"  said  the  sprightly  young  lady,  who  had  taken  a  seat 
by  my  side,  and  who  had  the  brightest,  most  sparkling  counte- 
nance I  ever  saw.  "  You  live  in  such  a  beautiful,  beautiful 
place,  with  such  an  elegant  husband,  too  !  What  a  life  of  en- 
chantment yours  must  be  !  Do  you  know  you  are  the  envy  of 
all  the  young  ladies  of  the  city  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  I  answered,  trying  to  respond  in  the  same 
sportive  strain ;  and  every  one  knows,  that  when  the  heart  is 
oppressed  by  secret  anxiety,  it  is  easier  to  be  gay  than  cheer- 
ful. "  I  hope  not ;  as  I  might  be  in  danger  of  being  exhaled  by 
some  subtle  perfume.  I  have  heard  of  the  art  of  poisoning 
being  brought  to  such  perfection,  that  it  can  be  communicated 
by  a  flower  or  a  ring." 

"It  must  be  a  very  fascinating  study,"  she  said,  laughingly. 
"  I  intend  to  take  lessons,  though  I  think  throwing  vitriol  in  the 
face  and  marring  its  beauty,  is  the  most  effectual  way  of  remov- 
ing a  rival." 

"  I  thought  you  were  discussing  the  wants  and  miseries  of  the 
sewing  sisterhood,"  said  Mrs.  Brahan,  coming  near  us.  "  What 
started  so  horrible  a  theme  ?  " 

"  Mr  Linwood's  perfections,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  a  gay 
rmile. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  283 

"  He  has  one  great  fault,"  observed  Mrs.  Brahan  ;  "  he  keeps 
you  too  close  a  prisoner,  my  dear.  I  fear  he  is  very  selfish. 
Tell  him  so  from  me  ;  for  he  must  not  expect  to  monopolize  a 
jewel  formed  to  adorn  and  beautify  the  world." 

She  spoke  sportively,  benignantly,  without  knowing  the 
deep  truth  of  her  words.  She  knew  that  my  husband  sought 
retirement ;  that  I  seldom  went  abroad  without  him.  But  she 
knew  not,  dreamed  not,  of  the  strength  of  the  master-passion 
that  governed  his  actions. 

Gradually  the  company  dispersed.  A.S  I  came  so  late,  I  re- 
mained a  little  behind  the  rest,  attracted  by  a  painting  in  the 
back  parlor.  I  suppose  I  inherited  from  my  father  a  love  of 
the  fine  arts ;  for  I  never  could  pass  a  statue  or  a  picture  with- 
out pausing  to  gaze  upon  it. 

This  represented  a  rocky  battlement,  rising  in  the  midst  of 
the  deep  blue  sea.  The  silvery  glimmer  of  moonlight  shone  ou 
the  rippling  waves  ;  moonlight  breaking  through  dark  clouds,  — 
producing  the  most  dazzling  contrast  of  light  and  .shade.  A 
large  vessel,  in  full  sail,  glided  along  in  the  gloom  of  the  shad- 
ows ;  a  little  skiff  floated  on  the  white-crested,  sparkling,  shining 
tide.  The  flag  of  our  country  waved  from  the  rocky  tower.  I 
seemed  gazing  on  a  familiar  scene.  Those  wave  washed  battle- 
ments ;  that  floating  banner ;  the  figures  of  soldiers  marching 
on  the  ramparts,  with  folded  arms  and  measured  tread,  —  all 
appeared  like  the  embodiment  of  a  dream. 

"  What  does  this  represent  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Fortress  Monroe,  on  Chesapeake  Bay." 

"  I  thought  so.     Who  was  the  artist  ?  " 

"  I  think  his  name  was  St.  James.  It  is  on  the  picture,  near 
the  frame.  Yes,  —  Henry  Gabriel  St.  James.  What  a  beau- 
tiful name  !  Poor  fellow  !  —  I  believe  he  had  a  sad  fate  !  Mr. 
Brahan  could  tell  you  something  of  his  history.  He  purchased 
this  house  of  him  seventeen  years  ago.  What  is  t^e  matter, 
Mrs.  Linwood  ?  " 

I  sank  on  the  nearest  seat,  incapable  of  supporting  myself. 
I  was  in  the  house  where  I  was  born,  —  where  my  mother 
passed  the  brief  period  of  her  wedded  happiness ;  whence  she 


284  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

was  driven,  a  wronged,  despairing  woman,  with  m3,  un  uncon- 
scious infant,  in  her  arms.  It  was  my  father's  glowing  sketch 
on  which  I  was  gazing,  —  that  father  whom  I  had  so  recently 
met,  —  a  criminal,  evading  the  demands  of  justice  ;  a  man  who 
had  lost  all  his  original  brightness,  —  a  being  of  sin  and  misery. 

Mrs.  Brahan  rang  for  water ;  but  I  did  not  faint. 

"  I  have  taken  a  long  walk  this  morning,"  I  said,  "  and  your 
rooms  are  warm.  I  feel  better,  now.  And  this  house  belonged 
to  the  artist  ?  I  feel  interested  in  his  story." 

"I  wish  Mr.  Brahan  were  here;  but  I  will  tell  you  all  I 
recollect.  It  was  a  long  time  ago ;  and  what  we  hear  from  others 
of  individuals  in  whom  we  have  no  personal  interest,  is  soon 
forgotten.  Do  you  really  feel  better?  Well,  I  believe  St. 
James,  the  artist,  was  a  highly  accomplished,  gifted  man.  He 
was  married  to  a  beautiful  young  wife,  and  I  think  had  one 
child.  Of  course  he  was  supremely  happy.  It  seems  he  was 
called  away  from  home  very  suddenly,  was  gone  a  few  month.?, 
and  when  he  returned,  he  found  his  wife  and  child  fled,  and 
a  stranger  claiming  her  name  and  place.  I  never  heard  this 
mystery  explained ;  but  it  is  said,  she  disappeared  as  suddenly 
as  she  came,  while  he  sought  by  every  means  to  recover  his  lost 
treasure,  but  in  vain.  His  reason  at  one  time  forsook  him, 
and  his  health  declined.  At  length,  unable  to  remain  where 
every  thing  reminded  him  of  his  departed  happiness,  he  resolved 
to  leave  the  country  and  go  to  foreign  climes.  Mr.  Brahan, 
who  wished  to  purchase  at  that  time,  was  pleased  with  the 
house,  —  bought  it,  and  brought  me  here,  a  bride.  He  has 
altered  and  improved  it  a  great  deal,  but  many  things  remain 
just  as  they  were.  You  seem  interested.  There  is  something 
mysterious  and  romantic  connected  with  it.  Oh !  here  is  Mr. 
Brahan  himself;  he  can  relate  it  far  better  than  I  can." 

After  the  usual  courtesies  of  meeting,  she  resumed  the  sub- 
ject, and  told  her  husband  how  much  interested  I  was  in  the 
history  of  the  unfortunate  artist. 

"Ah  yes!"  cried  he;  "poor  fellow! — he  was  sore  beset. 
Two  women  claimed  him  as  wives,  —  and  he  lost  both.  I  never 
beard  a  clear  account  of  this  part  of  his  life ;  for  when  I  knew 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  285 

him,  lie  was  just  emerging  from  insanity,  and  it  was  supposed 
his  mind  was  still  clouded.  He  was  very  reserved  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  personal  misfortunes.  I  only  know  it  was  the  loss 
of  the  wife  whom  he  acknowledged  that  unsettled  his  reason. 
He  was  a  magnificent  looking  fellow,  —  full  of  genius  and  feeling. 
He  told  me  he  was  going  to  Italy,  —  and  very  likely  he  died  of 
a  broken  heart,  beneath  its  sunny  and  genial  skies.  He  was  a 
fine  artist.  Tuat  picture  has  inspiration  in  it.  Look  at  the  re- 
flection of  the  moon  in  the  water.  How  tremulous  it  is !  You 
can  almost  see  the  silver  rippling  beneath  that  gliding  boat.  He 
was  a  man  of  genius.  There  is  no  doubt  he  was." 

"  I  should  like  to  show  Mrs.  Linwood  the  picture  which  you 
found  in  the  closet  of  his  studio,"  said  Mrs.  Brahan.  "  Do  you 
know,  I  think  there  is  a  resemblance  to  herself?  " 

"  So  there  is,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brahan,  as  if  making  a  sudden 
discovery.  "  Her  face  has  haunted  me  since  I  first  beheld  her, 
and  I  have  just  discovered  where  I  have  seen  its  semblance.  If 
you  will  walk  up  stairs,  I  will  show  it  to  you." 

Almost  mechanically  I  followed  up  the  winding  stairs,  so 
j)ften  pressed  by  the  feet  now  mouldering  side  by  side  beneath 
the  dark  coffin  lid,  into  the  room  where  my  now  degraded  par- 
ent gave  form  and  coloring  to  the  dreams  of  imagination,  or  the 
shadows  of  memory.  The  walls  were  arching,  and  lighted  from 
above.  Mr  Brahan  had  converted  it  into  a  library,  and  it  wag 
literally  lined  with  books  on  every  side  but  one.  Suspended  on 
that,  in  a  massy  gilt  frame,  was  a  sketch  which  arrested  my  gaze, 
and  it  had  no  power  to  wander.  The  head  alone  was  finished, 
- —  but  such  a  head !  I  recognized  at  once  my  mother's  features  ; 
not  as  1  had  seen  them  faded  by  sorrow,  but  in  the  soft  radiance 
of  love  and  happiness.  They  did  not  wear  the  rosy  brightness 
of  the  miniature  I  had  seen  in  my  father's  hand,  which  was 
probably  taken  immediately  after  her  marriage.  This  picture 
represented  her  as  my  imagination  pictured  her  after  my  birth, 
when  the  tender  anxieties  of  the  mother  softened  and  subdued 
the  splendor  of  her  girlish  beauty ;  those  eyes,  —  those  unfor- 
gotten  eyes,  with  their  long,  curling  lashes,  and  expression  of 
heavenly  sweetness,  —  how  they  seemed  to  bend  on  me,  —  the 


286  ERXKsT     LINWOOD. 

child  she  had  so  much  loved !  I  longed  to  kneel  before  it,  to 
appeal  to  it,  by  every  holy  and  endearing  epithet,  —  to  reach 
the  cold,  unconscious  canvas,  and  cover  it  with  my  kisses  and  my 
tears.  But  I  could  only  gaze  and  gaze,  and  the  strong  spell 
that  bound  me  was  mistaken  for  the  ecstasy  of  admiration,  such 
as  genius  only  can  awaken. 

"  There  is  a  wonderful  resemblance,"  said  Mr.  Brahan, 
breaking  the  silence.  "  I  shall  feel  great  pride  henceforth  in 
saying,  I  have  an  admirable  likeness  of  Mrs.  Linwood." 

"  I  ought  to  feel  greatly  flattered,"  I  answered  with  a  quick 
drawn  breath  ;  "  it  certainly  is  very  lovely." 

"  It  has  the  loveliest  expression  I  ever  saw  in  woman's  coun- 
tenance," observed  Mr.  Brahan.  "  Perhaps,  after  making  such 
a  remark,  I  ought  not  to  say,  that  in  that  chiefly  lies  its  resem- 
blance to  yourself,  but  it  is  emphatically  so." 

"  She  must  be  too  much  accustomed  to  compliments  to  mind 
yours,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brahan.  "  I  think  Mrs.  Linwood 
has  the  advantage  of  the  picture,  for  she  has  the  bloom  and 
light  of  life.  No  painting  can  supply  these." 

"  There  is  something  in  the  perfect  repose  of  a  picture,"  said 
I,  withdrawing  my  eyes  from  my  mother's  seraphic  countenance ; 
"  something  in  its  serene,  unchanging  beauty,  that  is  a  type  of 
immortality,  of  the  divine  rest  of  the  soul.  Life  is  restless, 
and  grows  tremulous  as  we  gaze." 

"  0  that  that  picture  were  mine ! "  I  unconsciously  uttered, 
as  I  turned  to  take  a  last  look  on  leaving  the  apartment. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  it  is  mine  to  give,"  said  Mr.  Brahan, 
"as  I  found  it  here  after  purchasing  the  house.  The  one  below 
was  presented  me  by  St.  James  himself.  If,  however,  you  will 
allow  me  to  send  it  to  Mr.  Linwood,  I  really  think  he  has  the 
best  right  to  it,  on  account  of  its  remarkable  resemblance  to 
yourself." 

"Oh  no,  indeed,"  I  exclaimed;  "I  did  not  mean,  did  not 
think  of  such  a  thing.  It  was  a  childish  way  of  expressing 
my  admiration  of  the  painting.  If  you  will  give  me  the  priv- 
ilege of  sometimes  calling  to  look  at  it,  I  shall  be  greatly  in 
<Jebted." 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  287 

1  burned  down  stairs,  fearful  of  committing  myself  in  some 
way,  so  as  to  betray  the  secret  of  my  birth. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  and  see  us  often,  Mrs.  Linwood," 
Baid  Mrs.  Brahan,  as  I  bade  her  adieu.  "We  are  not  very 
fashionable  ;  but  if  I  read  your  character  aright,  you  will  not 
dislike  us  on  that  account.  A  young  person,  who  is  almost  a 
stranger  in  a  great  city  like  this,  sometimes  feels  the  want  of  an 
older  friend.  Let  me  be  that  friend." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  madam,"  I  answered,  returning  the  cordial 
pressure  of  her  hand ;  "  you  do  not  know  how  deeply  I  appre- 
ciate your  proffered  friendship,  or  how  happy  I  shall  be  to  cul- 
tivate it." 

With  many  kind  and  polite  expressions,  they  both  accompa- 
nied me  to  the  door,  and  I  left  them  with  the  conviction  that 
wedded  happiness  might  be  perfect  after  the  experience  of 
seventeen  years. 

When  alone  in  the  carriage,  I  tried  to  compose  my  agitated 
and  excited  mind.  So  much  had  been  crowded  into  the  space 
of  a  few  hours,  that  it  seemed  as  if  days  must  have  passed  since 
I  left  home.  I  tried  to  reconcile  what  I  had  heard  with  what 
J  had  seen  of  my  father ;  but  I  could  not  identify  the  magnifi- 
cent artist,  the  man  of  genius  and  of  feeling,  with  the  degener- 
ate being  from  whom  I  had  recoiled  one  hour  ago.  Could  a 
long  career  of  guilt  and  shame  thus  deface  and  obliterate  that 
divine  and  godlike  image,  in  which  man  was  formed  ?  He 
must  have  loved  my  mother.  Desperation  for  her  loss  had 
plunged  him  into  the  wildest  excesses  of  dissipation.  From  my 
soul  I  pitied  him.  I  would  never  cease  to  pray  for  him,  never 
regret  what  I  had  done  to  save  him  from  ruin,  even  if  my  own 
happiness  were  wrecked  by  the  act.  I  had  tried  to  do  what  was 
right,  and  God,  who  seeth  the  heart,  would  forgive  me,  if  wrong 
was  the  result. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

LETTERS  from  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith  waited  me  at  home. 
Their  perusal  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  collect  my  thoughts, 
and  an  excuse  to  talk  of  them,  of  Grandison  Place,  rather  than 
of  topics  connected  with  the  present.  Yet  all  the  time  I  was 
reading  Mrs.  Linwood's  expression  of  trusting  affection,  I  said 
to  myself,  — 

"  What  would  she  say,  if  she  knew  I  had  parted  with  her 
splendid  gift,  unknown  to  my  husband,  whose  happiness  she 
committed  so  solemnly  to  my  keeping  ?  " 

I  told  Ernest  of  the  interesting  circumstances  connected  with 
Mr.  Brahan's  house,  and  of  the  picture  of  my  mother  I  so 
longed  that  I  should  see.  The  wish  was  gratified  sooner  than 
I  anticipated ;  for  that  very  evening,  it  was  sent  to  me  by  Mr. 
Brahan,  with  a  very  elegant  note,  in  which  he  asked  me  to  take 
charge  of  it  till  the  rightful  owner  appeared  to  claim  it  as  his 
own. 

"  It  is  like  you,  Gabriella,"  said  Ernest,  gazing  with  evident 
admiration  on  the  beauteous  semblance ;  "  and  it  is  an  exquisite 
painting  too.  You  must  cherish  this  picture  as  a  proof  of  your 
mother's  beauty  and  your  father's  genius." 

I  did  cherish  it,  as  a  household  divinity.  I  almost  worship- 
ped it,  for  though  I  did  not  burn  before  it  frankincense  and 
myrrh,  I  offered  to  it  the  daily  incense  of  memory  and  love. 

As  Margaret  consented  to  remain  a  week  with  her  friend 
Miss  Haven,  we  were  left  in  quiet  possession  of  our  elegant 
leisure,  and  Ernest  openly  rejoiced  in  her  absence.  He  read 
aloud  to  me,  played  and  sung  with  thrilling  melody,  and  drew 
out  all  his  powers  of  fascination  for  my  entertainment.  Th* 

(288) 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  289 

fear  of  his  discovering  my  clandestine  meeting  grew  fainter  and 
fuinter  as  day  after  day  passed,  without  a  circumstance  arising 
which  would  lead  to  detection. 

One  evening,  Mr.  Harland,  with  several  other  gentlemen,  was 
with  us.  Ernest  was  unusually  affable,  and  of  course  my 
spirits  rose  in  proportion.  In  the  course  of  conversation,  Mr. 
Harland  remarked  that  he  had  a  let  for  me  to  decide. 

"  I  cannot  consent  to  be  an  umpire,"  said  I.  "  I  dislike  bet- 
ting in  ladies,  and  if  gentlemen  indulge  in  it,  they  must  refer  to 
their  own  sex,  not  ours." 

"  But  it  has  reference  to  yourself,"  he  cried,  "  and  you  alone 
can  decide." 

"  To  me !  "  I  exclaimed,  involuntarily  glancing  at  Ernest. 

"  Yes  !  A  friend  of  mine  insists  that  he  saw  you  walking  in 

the Park,  the  other  morning,  with  a  gentleman,  who  was 

too  tall  for  Mr.  Limvood.  That  you  wore  a  gray  shawl  and 
green  veil,  but  that  your  air  and  figure  could  not  possibly  be  mis- 
taken. I  told  him,  in  the  first  place,  that  you  never  dressed  in 
that  style ;  in  the  second,  that  he  was  too  far  from  you  to  dis- 
tinguish you  from  another ;  and  in  the  third,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible you  should  be  seen  walking  with  any  gentleman  but  your 
husband,  as  he  never  gave  them  an  opportunity.  As  he  offered 
a  high  wager,  and  I  accepted  it,  I  feel  no  small  interest  in  the 
decision." 

"  Tell  your  friend,  Mr.  Harland,"  exclaimed  Ernest,  rising 
from  his  seat,  and  turning  pale  as  marble,  "that  I  will  not 
permit  my  wife's  name  to  be  bandied  from  lip  to  lip  in  the 
public  street,  nor  her  movements  made  a  subject  for  low  and 
vulgar  betting." 

"  Mr.  Linwood  ! "  cried  Mr.  Harland,  rising  too,  with  anger 
flashing  from  his  eyes,  "  do  you  apply  those  remarks  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  make  no  application,"  answered  Ernest,  with  inexpressible 
haughtiness  ;  "  but  I  again  assert,  that  the  freedom  taken  with 
my  wife's  name  is  unwarrantable,  and  shall  not  be  repeated." 

"  If  Mrs.  Linwood  considers  herself  insulted,"  cried  Mr. 
Harland,  "  I  am  ready  to  offer  her  any  apology  she  may  desire. 
Of  one  thing  she  may  be  assured :  no  disrespect  was  intended 


200  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

by  the  gentleman  to  whom  I  allude,  and  she  certainly  cannot 
think  ihat  I  would  forget  her  claims  as  a  lady,  and  as  the  wife 
of  the  man  whom  I  had  reason  to  believe  my  friend." 

He  spoke  the  last  sentence  with  strong  emphasis,  and  the 
blood  mounted  high  in  the  pale  face  of  Ernest.  I  could  oniy 
bow,  as  Mr.  Harland  concluded,  in  acceptance  of  the  apology, 
for  I  saw  a  thundercloud  darkening  over  me,  and  knew  it  would 
break  in  terror  over  my  head. 

"  I  have  spoken  hastily,  Mr.  Harland,"  said  Ernest.  "  If  I 
have  said  any  thing  wounding  to  your  feelings,  as  a  gentleman,  I 
recall  it.  But  you  may  tell  your  friend,  that  the  next  time  he 
asserts  that  he  has  seen  Mrs.  Linwood  walking  with  a  stranger, 
in  a  public  place,  when  I  know  she  was  in  company  with  some 
of  the  first  ladies  of  the  city  for  benevolent  designs,  I  shall  call 
him  to  account  for  such  gross  misrepresentations." 

And  I  heard  this  in  silence,  —  without  contradiction. 

Oh !  how  must  the  woman  feel  who  has  deceived  her  hus- 
band for  a  guilty  purpose,  when  I,  whose  motives  were  pure 
and  upright,  suffered  such  unutterable  anguish  in  the  prospect 
of  detection  ?  If  I  were  hardened  enough  to  deny  the  asser- 
tion, —  if  I  could  only  have  laughed  and  wondered  at  the  prepos- 
terous mistake,  —  if  I  could  have  assumed  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence and  composure,  my  secret  might  have  been  safe.  But  I 
was  a  novice  in  deception  ;  and  burning  blushes,  and  pale,  cold 
shadows  alternately  flitted  across  my  face. 

It  was  impossible  to  resume  the  conversation  interrupted  by 
»»  scene  so  distressing  to  some,  so  disagreeable  to  all.  One  by 
one  our  guests  retired,  and  I  was  left  alone  with  Ernest. 

The  chandeliers  were  glittering  overhead,  the  azure  cur- 
tains received  their  light  in  every  sweeping  fold,  cherubs 
smiled  bewitchingly  from  the  arching  ceiling,  and  roses  that 
looked  as  if  they  might  have  blossomed  by  "  Bendemere's 
stream,"  blushed  beneath  my  feet, — yet  I  would  gladly  have 
exchanged  all  this  splendor  for  a  spot  in  the  furthest  isle  of  the 
3cean,  a  lone  and  barren  spot,  where  the  dark  glance  which  I 
f'elt,  but  did  not  see,  could  not  penetrate. 

I  sat  with  downcast  eyes  and  wildly  throbbing  heart,  trying 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  20 1 

to  summon  resolution  to  meet  the  trial  I  saw  there  was  no 
means  of  escaping.  If  he  questioned,  I  must  answer.  I  could 
not.  dared  not,  utter  a  falsehood,  and  evasion  would  be  considered 
equivalent  to  it. 

He  walked  back  and  forth  the  whole  length  of  the  parlor, 
two  or  three  times,  without  speaking,  then  stopped  directly  in 
front  of  me,  still  silent.  Unable  to  bear  the  intolerable  oppres- 
sion of  my  feelings,  I  started  up  and  attempted  to  leave  the 
room;  but  he  arrested  me  by  the  arm,  and  his  waxen  fingers 
seemed  hardened  to  steel. 

"  Gabriella  ! " 

His  voice  sounded  so  distant,  so  cold ! 

"  Ernest !  " 

I  raised  my  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  we  looked  each  other 
in  the  face.  There  was  fascination  in  his  glance,  and  yet  it 
had  the  dagger's  keenness. 

"  What  is  thfj  meaning  of  what  I  have  just  heard  ?  What  is 
the  meaning  of  a  report,  which  I  should  have  regarded  as  the 
idle  wind,  did  not  your  overwhelming  confusion  establish  its 
truth  ?  Tell  me,  for  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  tampered  with,  as 
you  will  find  to  your  cost." 

"  I  cannot  answer  when  addressed  in  such  a  tone.  Oh,  I  can- 
not." 

"  Gabriella  !  this  is  not  a  moment  to  trifle.  Tell  me,  without 
prevarication,  —  were  you,  or  were  you  not  in  the  Park,  walking 
with  a  gentleman,  on  the  morning  you  left  for  Mrs.  Brahan's  ? 
Answer  me,  —  yes,  or  no." 

Had  he  spoken  with  gentleness,  —  had  he  seemed  moved  tc 
sorrow  as  well  as  indignation,  I  would  have  thrown  myself  at 
his  feet,  and  deprecated  his  anger;  but  my  spirit  rose  in 
rebellion  at  the  stern  despotism  of  his  manner,  and  nerved  it- 
self  to  resist  his  coercive  will. 

Truly  is  It  said,'  "  We  know  not  what  manner  of  spirit  we  are 
of." 

I  little  thought  how  high  mine  could  rebound  from  the 
Itrong  pressure  which,  in  anticipation,  crushed  it  to  the  dust. 

I  felt  firm  to  endure,  strong  to  resist. 
19 


292  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"  Ernest !  1  have  done  you  no  wrong,"  I  answered,  raising 
my  eyes  to  his  pale,  dark  countenance.  "  I  have  done  nothing 
to  merit  the  displeasure  which  makes  you  forget  the  courtesy 
of  a  gentleman,  as  well  as  the  tenderness  of  a  husband." 

"  Then  it  was  a  false  report,"  he  exclaimed,  —  a  ray  of  light 
flashing  from  his  clouded  eyes,  —  "  you  could  not  look  me  in 
the  face  and  speak  in  that  tone  unlesa  you  were  innocent! 
Why  did  you  not  deny  it  at  once  ?  " 

"  Only  listen  to  me,  Ernest,"  I  cried ;  "  only  give  me  a  pa- 
tient, gentle  hearing,  and  I  will  give  you  a  history,  which  I  am 
certain  will  convert  your  indignation  into  sympathy,  and  free 
me  from  suspicion  or  blame." 

I  armed  myself  with  resolution  to  tell  him  all.  My  father 
was  in  all  probability  far  away  on  the  billows  of  the  Atlantic. 
My  disclosures  could  not  affect  him  now.  My  promise  of 
secrecy  did  not  extend  into  the  future.  I  would  gladly  have 
withheld  from  my  husband  the  knowledge  of  his  degradation, 
for  it  was  humiliating  to  the  child  to  reveal  the  parent's  shame. 
Criminal  he  knew  him  to  be,  with  regard  to  my  mother,  but 
Ernest  had  said,  when  gazing  on  her  picture,  he  almost  forgave 
the  crime  which  had  so  much  to  extenuate  it.  The  garahler, 
the  profligate,  the  lost,  abandoned  being,  who  had  thrown 
himself  so  abjectly  on  my  compassion  :  in  these  characters,  the 
high-minded  Ernest  would  spurn  him  with  withering  indigna- 
tion. Yet  as  the  interview  had  been  observed,  and  his  suspi- 
cions excited,  it  was  my  duty  to  make  an  unreserved  confes- 
sion,—  and  I  did.  Conscious  of  the  purity  of  my  motives, 
and  assured  that  he  must  eventually  acquit  me  of  blame,  I  told 
him  all,  from  the  note  he  dropped  into  my  lap  at  the  theatre,  to 
the  diamond  casket  given  in  parting  to  his  desperate  hand.  I 
told  him  all  my  struggles,  my  fears,  my  agonies,  —  dwelling 
most  of  all  on  the  agony  I  suffered  in  being  compelled  to  de- 
ceive him. 

Silently,  immovably  he  heard  me,  never  interrupting  me  by 
question  or  explanation.  He  had  seated  himself  on  a  sofa 
when  I  began,  motioning  me  to  sit  down  by  him,  but  I  drew 
forward  a  low  footstool  and  sat  at  his  fret,  looking  up  with  tha 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  293 

earnestness  of  truth  and  the  confidence  of  innocence.  Oh !  he 
could  not  help  but  acquit  me,  —  he  could  not  help  but  pity  me. 
I  had  done  him  injustice  in  believing  it  possible  for  him  to  con- 
demn me  for  an  act  of  filial  obedience,  involving  so  much  self- 
sacrifice  and  anguish.  He  would  clasp  me  to  his  bosom,  —  he 
would  fold  me  in  his  arms,  —  he  would  call  me  his  "  own,  dar 
ling  Gabriella." 

A  pause, —  a  chilling  pause  succeeded  the  deep-drawn  breath 
with  which  I  closed  the  confession.  Cold,  bitter  cold,  fell  that 
silence  on  my  hoping,  trembling,  yet  glowing  heart.  He  was 
leaning  on  his  elbow, —  his  hand  covered  his  brow. 

"  Ernest,"  at  length  I  said,  "  you  have  heard  my  explanation 
Am  I,  or  am  I  not,  acquitted  ?  " 

He  started  as  if  from  a  trance,  clasped  his  hands  tightly  to- 
gether, and  lifted  them  above  his  head,  —  then  springing  up, 
he  drew  back  from  me,  as  if  I  were  a  viper  coiling  at  his  feet. 

"  Your  father !  "  he  exclaimed  with  withering  scorn.  "  Your 
father !  The  tale  is  marvellously  conceived  and  admirably 
related.  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  that  bold  libertine, 
who  made  you  the  object  of  his  unrepressed  admiration,  was 
your  father  ?  Why,  that  man  was  not  old  enough  to  be  your 
father,  —  and  if  ever  profligacy  was  written  on  a  human  coun- 
tenance, its  damning  lines  were  traced  on  his.  Your  father  1 
Away  with  a  subterfuge  so  vile  and  flimsy,  a  falsehood  so  wan- 
ton and  sacrilegious." 

Should  I  live  a  thousand  years,  I  never  could  forget  the  awful 
shock  of  that  moment,  the  whirlwind  of  passion  that  raged  in 
my  bosom.  To  be  accused  of  falsehood,  and  such  a  falsehood, 
by  Ernest,  after  my  truthful,  impassioned  revelation ;  —  it  was 
what  I  could  not,  would  not  bear.  My  heart  seemed  a  boiling 
cauldron,  whence  the  hot  blood  rushed  in  burning  streams  to 
face,  neck,  and  hands.  My  eyes  flashed,  my  lips  quivered  with 
indig  nation. 

"  Is  it  I,  your  wife,  whom  you  accuse  of  falsehood  ?  "  I  ex- 
claimed ;  "  dare  you  repeat  an  accusation  so  vile  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  act  a  falsehood,  when  you  so  grossly  deceived 
me,  by  pretending  to  go  on  an  errand  of  benevolence,  when 


294  ERNEST     L1NWOOD. 

in  reality  you  were  bound  to  a  disgraceful  assignation  ?  WTwil 
veteran  intriguante  ever  arranged  any  thing  more  coolly,  more 
deliberately  ?  Even  if  the  story  of  that  man's  being  your  father 
were  not  false,  what  trust  could  I  ever  repose  in  one  so  skilled 
in  deception,  so  artful,  and  so  perfidious  ?  ' 

"  Ernest,  you  will  rue  what  you  say  now,  to  your  dying  day ; 
you  will  rue  it  at  the  judgment  bar  of  heaven ;  you  are  doing 
me  the  cruellest  wrong  man  ever  inflicted  on  woman." 

The  burning  current  in  my  veins  was  cooling,  —  a  chill,  be 
numbing  sense  of  injustice  and  injury  was  settling  on  every  feel- 
ing. I  looked  in  his  face,  and  its  classic  beauty  vanished,  even 
its  lineaments  seemed  changed,  the  illusion  of  love  was  passing 
away  ;  with  indescribable  horror  I  felt  this ;  it  was  like  the  opening 
of  a  deep,  dark  abyss.  Take  away  my  love  for  Ernest,  and  what 
would  be  left  of  life  ?  Darkness  —  despair  —  annihilation.  1 
thought  not,  recked  not  then  of  his  lost  love  for  me  ;  I  only 
dreaded  ceasing  to  love  him,  dreaded  that  congelation  of  the 
heart  more  terrible  than  death. 

"  Where  is  the  note  ? "  he  asked  suddenly.  "  Show  me  tho 
warrant  for  this  secret  meeting." 

"  I  destroyed  it." 

Again  a  thunder-gust  swept  over  his  countenance.  I  ought 
to  have  kept  it,  I  ought  to  have  anticipated  a  moment  like  this 
but  my  judgment  was  obscure  by  fear. 

"  You  destroyed  it !  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  well  might  I  dread  a  disclosure  which  has  brought 
on  a  scene  so  humbling  to  us  both.  Let  it  not  continue ;  you 
have  heard  from  me  nothing  but  plain  and  holy  truth ;  I  have 
nothing  to  say  in  my  defence.  Had  I  acted  differently,  you 
yourself  would  despise  and  contemn  me." 

"  Had  you  come  to  me  as  you  ought  to  have  done,  asking  my 
counsel  and  assistance,  I  would  have  met  the  wretch  who  sought 
to  beguile  you  ;  I  would  have  detected  the  irnposter,  if  you  indeed 
believed  the  tale ;  I  would  have  saved  you  from  the  shame  of  a 
public  exposure,  and  myself  the  misery,  the  tortures  of  this 
hour." 

•'  Did  he  not  threaten  your  life  and  his  own  ?     Did  he  not 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  295 

appeal  to  me  in  the  most  solemn  and  awful  man  ler  not  to  be- 
tray him  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  known  the  man  who  urged  you  to  deceive 
your  husband  to  be  a  villain." 

"  Alas  !  alas !  I  know  him  to  be  a  villain  ;  and  yet  he  is  my 
father." 

"  He  is  not  your  father  !  I  know  he  is  not.  I  would  swear 
it  before  a  court  of  justice.  I  would  swear  it  before  the  chap- 
eery  of  the  skies  !  " 

"  Would  to  heaven  that  your  words  were  true.  Would  to 
heaven  my  being  were  not  derived  from  such  a  polluted  source. 
But  I  know  too  well  that  he  is  my  father ;  and  that  he  has  en- 
tailed on  me  everlasting  sorrow.  You  admit,  that  if  he  is  an 
impostor,  I  was  myself  deceived.  You  recall  your  fearful  accu- 
sation." 

"  My  God ! "  he  exclaimed,  clasping  his  hands,  and  looking 
wildly  upwards,  "  I  know  not  what  to  believe.  I  would  give 
worlds,  were  they  mine,  for  the  sweet  confidence  forever  lost ! 
The  cloud  was  passing  away  from  my  soul.  Sunshine,  hope, 
love,  joy,  were  there.  I  was  wrapped  in  the  dreams  of  Elysium  ! 
Why  have  you  so  cruelly  awakened  me  ?  If  you  had  deceived 
me  once,  why  not  go  on ;  deny  the  accusation ;  fool,  dupe  me, 
—  do  any  thing  but  convince  me  that  where  I  have  so  blindly 
worshipped,  I  have  been  so  treacherously  betrayed." 

I  pitied  him,  —  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul  I  pitied  him, 
his  countenance  expressed  such  exceeding  bitter  anguish.  J 
saw  that  passion  obscured  his  reason ;  that  while  under  its  do- 
minion he  was  incapable  of  perceiving  the  truth.  I  remem- 
bered the  warning  accents  of  his  mother :  "  You  have  no  right 
to  complain."  I  remembered  her  Christian  injunction,  "  to  en- 
dure all ; "  and  my  own  promise,  with  God's  help,  to  do  it.  All 
at  once,  it  seemed  as  if  my  guardian  angel  stood  before  me,  with 
a  countenance  of  celestial  sweetness  shaded  by  sorrow  ;  and  I 
trembled  as  I  gazed.  I  had  bowed  my  shoulder  to  the  cross ; 
but  as  soon  as  the  burden  galled  and  oppressed  me,  I  had 
hurled  it  from  me,  exclaiming,  "it  was  greater  than  I  could 
bear."  I  had  deceived,  though  not  betrayed  him.  I  had  put 


296  ERKEST    LIN  WOOD. 

myself  in  the  power  of  a  villain,  and  exposed  myself  to  the 
tongue  of  slander.  I  had  expected,  dreaded  his  anger ;  and 
was  it  not  partly  just  ? 

As  these  thoughts  darted  through  my  mind  with  the  swift- 
ness and  power  of  lightning,  love  returned  in  all  its  living 
•warmth,  and  anguish  in  proportion  to  the  wound  it  had  received. 
I  was  borne  down  irresistibly  by  the  weight  of  my  emotions. 
My  knees  bent  under  me.  I  bowed  my  face  on  the  sofa ;  and 
tears,  hot  and  fast  as  tropic  rain,  gushed  from  my  eyes.  I  wept 
for  him  even  more  than  myself,  —  wept  for  the  "  dark-spotted 
flower  "  twined  with  the  roses  of  love. 

1  heard  him  walking  the  room  with  troubled  steps  ;  and 
every  step  sounded  as  mournful  to  me  as  the  earth-fall  on  the 
coffin-lid.  Their  echo  was  scarcely  audible  on  the  soft,  yielding 
carpet ;  yet  they  seemed  loud  and  heavy  to  my  excited  ear. 
Then  I  heard  him  approach  the  sofa,  and  stop,  close  to  the  spot 
•where  I  knelL  My  heart  almost  ceased  beating ;  when  he 
suddenly  knelt  at  my  side,  and  put  his  arms  around  me. 

"  Gabriella  ! "  said  he,  "  if  I  have  done  you  wrong,  may  God 
forgive  me ;  but  I  never  can  forgive  myself." 

Accents  of  love  issuing  from  the  grave  could  hardly  have 
been  more  thrilling  or  unexpected.  I  turned,  and  leaning  my 
head  on  his  shoulder,  I  felt  myself  drawn  closer  and  closer  to 
the  heart  from  which  I  believed  myself  for  ever  estranged.  I 
entreated  his  forgiveness  for  having  deceived  him.  I  told  him, 
for  I  believed  it  then,  that  the  purity  of  the  motive  did  not  jus- 
tify the  act ;  and  I  promised  in  the  most  solemn  manner  never 
again,  under  any  circumstances,  to  bind  myself  to  do  any  thing 
unknown  to  him,  or  even  to  act  spontaneously  without  his 
knowledge.  In  the  rapture  of  reconciliation,  I  was  willing  to 
give  any  pledge  as  a  security  for  love,  without  realizing  that 
jealousy  was  a  Shylock,  exacting  the  fulfilment  of  the  bond,  — 
the  pound  of  flesh  "  nearest  the  heart."  Yea,  more  exacting 
Btill,  for  he  paused,  when  forbidden  to  spill  the  red  life-drops, 
and  dropped  the  murderous  knife. 

And  Ernest,  —  with  what  deep  self-abasement  he  acknowl- 
edged the  errors  ato  which  blind  passion  had  led  him.  With 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  297 

what  anguish  he  reflected  on  the  disgraceful  charge  he  had 
brought  against  me.  Yea  ;  even  with  tears,  he  owned  his  Ljus- 
tice  and  madness,  and  begged  me  to  forget  and  forgive. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  he  cried,  when,  after  our  passionate 
emotions  having  subsided,  we  sat  hand  in  hand,  still  pale  and 
trembling,  but  subdued  and  grateful,  like  two  mariners  escaped 
from  wreck,  watching  the  billows  roaring  back  from  the  shore. 
"  What  have  I  done,  that  this  curse  should  be  entailed  upon  me  ? 
In  these  paroxysms  of  madness,  I  am  no  more  master  of  my- 
self than  the  maniac  who  hurls  his  desperate  hand  in  the  face 
of  Omnipotence.  Reason  has  no  power,  —  love  no  influence. 
Dark  clouds  rush  across  my  mind,  shutting  out  the  light  of 
truth.  My  heart  freezes,  as  in  a  wintry  storm.  O,  Gabriella! 
you  can  have  no  conception  of  what  I  suffer,  while  I  writhe  in 
the  tempter's  grasp.  It  is  said  God  never  allows  man  to  be 
tempted  beyond  his  powers  of  resistance.  I  dare  not  question 
the  word  of  the  Most  High,  but  in  the  hour  of  temptation  I 
feel  like  an  infant  contending  with  the  Philistine  giant.  But, 
oh !  the  joy,  the  rapture  when  the  paroxysm  is  past,  —  when 
light  dawns  on  the  darkness,  when  warmth  comes  meltingly  over 
the  ice  and  snow,  when  reason  resumes  its  sway,  and  love  its  em- 
pire, —  oh !  my  beloved !  it  is  life  renewed  —  it  is  a  resur 
rection  from  the  dead,  —  it  is  Paradise  regained  in  the  heart." 

Those  who  have  floated  along  on  a  smooth,  tranquil  tide, 
clear  of  the  breakers  and  whirlpools  au«I  rocks,  or  whose  bark 
has  lain  on  stagnant  waters,  on  which  r*  green  and  murky  shade 
is  beginning  to  gather,  with  no  breeze  to  fan  them  or  to  curl  the 
dull  and  lifeless  pool,  will  accuse  me  of  exaggeration,  and  say 
such  scenes  never  occurred  in  the  actual  experience  of  wedded 
life  ;  that  I  am  writing  a  romance,  instead  of  a  reality. 

I  answer  them,  that  I  am  drawing  the  sketch  as  faithfully  as 
the  artist,  who  transfers  the  living  form  to  the  canvas ;  that  as 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  exaggerate  the  dying  agonies  of  the 
malefactor  transfixed  by  the  dagger,  and  writhing  in  protracted 
tortures,  that  the  painter  may  immortalize  himself  by  the  death- 
throes  on  which  he  is  gazing  ;  so  the  agonies  of  him, 
"  Who  doubts,  yet  dcUs,  suspects,  yet  fondly  lores," 


298  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

cannot  be  described  in  colors  too  deep  and  strong.  Prometheus 
bound  to  tbe  rock,  with  the  beak  of  the  vulture  in  his  bleeding 
breast,  s&flering  daily  renewing  pangs,  his  wounds  healed  only 
to  be  torn  open  afresh,  is  an  emblem  of  the  victim  of  that 
vulture  passion,  which  the  word  of  God  declares  to  be  cruel  and 
insatiable  as  the  grave. 

No ;  my  pen  is  too  weak  to  describe  either  the  terrors  of  the 
storm  or  the  halcyon  peace,  the  heavenly  joy  that  succeeded.  I 
yielded  to  the  exquisite  bliss  of  reconciliation,  without  daring  to 
give  one  glance  to  the  future.  I  had  chosen  my  destiny.  I  had 
said,  "  Let  me  be  loved,  —  I  ask  no  more ! " 

I  was  loved,  even  to  the  madness  of  idolatry.  My  prayer 
was  granted.  Then  let  me  "  lay  my  hand  upon  my  mouth,  and 
my  mouth  in  the  dust."  I  had  rather  be  the  stormy  petrel, 
whose  wings  dip  into  ocean's  foaming  brine,  than  the  swallow 
nonling  under  the  barn-eaves  of  the  farmer,  or  in  the  chimney 
01  uae  countiy  homestead,  — 

"Better  to  stand  the  lightning's  shock, 
Than  moulder  piecemeal  on  the  rock." 


CHAPTER    XXX\  III. 

IT  was  fortunate  for  me  that  Margaret  -vras  absent  durrsg 
this  exciting  scene.  When  she  returned,  she  was  too  much  oc- 
cupied with  relating  the  pleasures  she  had  enjoyed  to  think  of 
what  might  have  occurred  iu  her  absence. 

"  I  am  dying  with  impatience,"  she  cried,  "  perfectly  consuming 
with  curiosity.  Here  is  n.  letter  from  my  mother,  in  which  she 
says  a  gentleman,  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  is  coming  to  the 
city,  and  that  she  has  requested  him  to  take  charge  of  me  back 
to  Boston.  She  does  not  mention  his  name,  and  I  have  not  the 
most  remote  idea  who  he  is.  She  says  she  is  very  happy 
that  her  wild  girl  should  be  escorted  by  a  person  of  so  much 
dignity  and  worth.  Dignity !  I  expect  he  is  one  of  the  ex- 
presidents  or  wise  statesmen,  whom  Mrs.  Linwood  has  recom- 
mended to  my  patronage.  I  have  a  great  admiration  for  great 
men,  large,  tall  men,  men  whose  heads  you  can  distinguish  m 
a  crowd  and  see  in  a  distant  procession.  They  look  as  if 
they  could  protect  one  in  the  day  of  trouble." 

"  Do  you  ever  think  of  such  a  day,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  do.  I  think  more  than  you  give  me  credit  for. 
I  can  think  more  iu  one  minute  than  you  slow  folks  can  in  a 
week.  Who  can  this  be  ?  I  remember  a  description  I  admire 
very  much.  It  is  in  some  old  poem  of  Scott's,  I  believe,  — 

'  Bold,  firm,  and  high,  his  stature  tall,' 

did  something,  looked  like  something,  I  have  forgotten  what.    I 
know  it  was  something  grand,  however." 

"  You  must  be  thinking  of  Mr.  Regulus,"  said  I,  laughing, 
as  memory  brought  before  me  some  of  his  inimitable  quackeries. 
"He  is  the  tallest  gentleman  I  have  ever  seen,  and  though 

(299) 


300  ERNEST     LINWOOD 

not  very  graceful,  has  a  very  imposing  figure,  especially  in  a 
crowd." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Regulus  one  of  the  finest  looking  men  I  ever 
saw,"  cried  Madge.  "  He  has  a  head  very  much  like  Web- 
ster's, and  his  eyebrows  are  exactly  like  his.  If  he  were  in  a 
conspicuous  station,  every  one  would  be  raving  about  his  moun- 
tainous head  and  cavernous  eyes  and  maie?tic  figure.  He  is 
worth  a  dozen  of  i>om,e  people,  who  shall  be  nameless.  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  be  president  of  the  United  Slates,  one  of  these 
days." 

"  I  never  heard  you  make  so  sensible  a  remark,  Marga- 
ret. I  thought  you  were  amusing  yourself  with  my  re- 
spected teacher.  I  am  glad  you  appreciate  his  uncommon 
merits." 

Madge  laughed  very  loud,  but  ehe  actually  blushed.  The 
first  symptom  of  wonvinho'xl  I  had  ever  seen  her  exhibit !  It 
was  a  strange  phenomenon,  and  I  marvelled  what  it  could  mean. 

To  my  unutterable  astonishment  and  delight,  a  few  evenings 
after,  my  quondam  preceptor  was  ushered  into  the  parlor ;  and 
strangely  looked  his  tall,  large  figure  in  the  midst  of  the  orien- 
tal lightness  and  splendor  through  which  it  moved.  "After 
greeting  me  with  the  most  heartfelt  feeling,  and  Madge  with  a 
half  shy,  half  dignified  manner,  he  gazed  around  him  with  the 
simplicity  and  wondering  admiration  of  a  child.  He  was  prob- 
ably comparing  the  beautiful  drapery,  that  seemed  like  the 
azure  robe  of  night  with  its  stars  of  glory  gleaming  through, 
with  the  plain  green  curtains  that  shaded  the  windows  of  the 
academy,  the  graceful  and  luxurious  divan  with  the  high-backed 
chair  which  was  my  village  throne. 

"  Beautiful,  charming !  "  he  exclaimed,  rubbing  his  hands 
slowly  and  gently.  "  You  remind  me  of  the  queen  of  a  fairy 
palace.  I  shall  not  dare  to  call  you  my  child  or  little  girl  again. 
Scherezade  or  Fatima  will  seem  more  appropriate." 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Regulus  I  I  had  rather  hear  you  call  me  child, 
than  any  thing  else  in  the  world.  It  carries  me  back  to  the 
dear  old  academy,  the  village  green,  the  elm  trees'  shade,  and 
all  the  sweet  memories  of  youth." 


801 

"  One  would  think  you  had  a  lung  backward  jourriey  to  take, 
from  the  saddened  heights  of  experience,''  said  Ernest ;  and 
there  was  that  indescribable  something  in  his  voice  and  <•  mnte 
nance,  which  I  had  learned  too  well  to  interpret,  that  told  m* 
he  was  not  pleased  with  my  remark.  He  did  not  want  me  to 
have  a  memory  further  back  than  my  first  meeting  with  him,  — 
a  hope  with  which  he  was  not  intertwined. 

"  You  may  call  me  child,  Mr.  Regulus,  as  much  as  you 
please,"  cried  Madge,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  unusual  brillian- 
cy. "  I  wish  I  were  a  little  school-girl  again,  privileged  to  romp 
as  much  as  I  pleased.  When  I  did  any  thing  wrong  then,  it 
vras  always  passed  over.  '  Oh !  she 's  but  a  child,  she  will 
get  sobered  when  she  is  grown.'  Now  if  I  laugL  a  little  louder 
and  longer  than  other  people,  they  stare  and  lift  up  their  eyes, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  pray  for  me  as  a  castaway  from  grace  and 
favor." 

"  Margaret !  "  said  I,  reproachfully. 

"  There !  exactly  as  I  described.  Every  sportive  word  I 
utter,  it  is  Margaret,  or  Madge,  or  Meg,  in  such  a  grave,  rebuk 
ing  tone ! " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  only  when  you  jest  on  serious  subjects,  thai 
you  meet  a  kindly  check,"  observed  Mr.  Regulus,  with  grave 
simplicity ;  "  there  are  so  many  legitimate  themes  of  mirth,  so 
many  light  frameworks,  round  which  the  flowers  of  wit  and 
fancy  can  twine,  it  is  better  to  leave  the  majestic  temple  of  re- 
ligion, untouched  by  the  hand  of  levity." 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  speak  profanely,"  said  Margaret,  hastily, 
—  and  the  color  visibly  deepened  on  her  cheek  ;  "  neither  did  I 
know  that  you  were  a  religious  character,  Mr.  Regulus.  I 
thought  you  were  a  very  good  sort  of  man,  and  all  that;  but 
I  did  not  think  you  had  so  much  of  the  minister  about  you." 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,  Miss  Margaret,  that  interest  in  religion 
should  be  considered  a  minister's  exclusive  privilege.  But  I 
hope  I  have  not  said  any  thing  wounding.  It  was  far  from  my 
intention.  I  am  a  sad  blunderer,  however,  as  Gabriella  knows 
full  well." 

I  was  charmed  with  my  straightforward,  simple,  and  .excellent 


302  HONEST     LINWOOD 


teacher.  I  had  uever  seen  him  appear  to  such  advantage.  He 
had  on  an  entirely  new  suit  of  the  finest  black  broadcloth,  that 
fitted  him  quite  a  la  mode  ;  a  vest  of  the  most  dazzling  white- 
ness ;  and  his  thick  black  hair  had  evidently  been  under  the 
smoothing  hands  of  a  fashionable  barber.  His  head  seemed 
much  reduced  in  size  ;  while  his  massy,  intellectual  forehead 
displayed  a  bolder  sweep  of  outline,  relieved  of  the  shadows 
that  obscured  its  phrenological  beauty. 

He  had  seen  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith  in  Boston.  They 
were  both  well,  and  looking  anxiously  forward  to  the  summer 
reunion  at  Grandison  Place.  Dr.  Harlowe  sent  me  many  char- 
acteristic messages,  —  telling  me  my  little  rocking-chair  was 
waiting  for  me  at  my  favorite  window,  and  that  he  had  not 
learned  to  rub  his  shoes  on  the  mat,  or  to  hang  up  his  hat  yet. 

"  Does  he  call  me  the  wild-cat,  still  ?  "  asked  Madge. 

"  I  believe  so.  He  told  me  to  say  that  he  had  his  house  re- 
paired, so  that  you  could  visit  him  without  endangering  Mrs. 
Harlowe's  china." 

"  The  monster  !  Well,  he  shall  give  me  a  new  name,  when 
I  see  him  again.  But  tell  me,  Mr.  Regulus,  who  is  the  very 
dignified  and  excellent  gentleman  whom  mamma  says  is  coming 
to  escort  me  home  ?  I  have  been  expiring  with  curiosity  to 
know." 

"  I  do  not  know  of  any  one  answering  to  that  description, 
Miss  Margaret,"  replied  Mr.  Regulus,  blushing,  and  passing  his 
hands  over  his  knees.  "  I  saw  your  mother  at  Mrs.  Linwood's  ; 
and  when  she  learned  I  was  coming  to  this  city,  she  said  she 
would  be  very  much  obliged  to  me,  if  I  would  take  charge  of 
you,  on  my  return." 

"  Then  you  did  not  come  on  purpose  for  me,  Mr.  Regulus," 
eaid  Madge,  with  a  saucy  smile. 

"  Oh  no,  —  I  had  business,  and  a  very  earnest  desire  to  see 
my  young  friend,  Gabriella.  If  I  can,  however,  combine  the 
useful  with  the  agreeable,  I  shall  be  very  well  pleased." 

"  By  the  useful,  you  mean,  seeing  me  sale  in  my  mamma's 
arms,"  said  Madge,  demurely. 

*'  Certainly,  Miss  Margaret." 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  503 

Even  Ernest  laughed  at  this  peculiar  compliment ;  and 
Madge  bit  her  lips,  half  in  vexation,  half  in  merriment.  I 
hardly  knew  what  to  think  of  Margaret.  She  was  certainly 
the  most  eccentric  being  I  ever  saw.  She,  who  seemed  to  care 
for  the  opinion  of  no  one,  —  reckless,  defying,  and  apparently 
heartless,  showed  more  deference  for  Mr.  Regulus,  more  solici- 
tude for  his  attention,  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  manifest  for 
another's.  Was  it  possible  that  this  strange,  wild  girl,  was  at- 
tracted by  the  pure,  unvarnished  qualities  of  this  "  great  grown 
boy,"  as  Dr.  Hurlowe  called  him  ?  It  is  impossible  to  account 
for  the  fascination  which  one  being  exercises  over  another; 
and  from  the  days  of  Desdemona  to  the  present  hour,  we  e?l- 
dom  hear  of  an  approaching  marriage,  without  hearing  al  the 
same  time  some  one  exclaim,  "  that  it  is  strange,  —  most  pass- 
ing strange." 

The  moment  I  admitted  the  possibility  of  his  exercising  a 
secret  influence  over  Madge,  I  looked  upon  him  with  new  inter- 
est. He  had  the  intense,  deep-set  eye,  which  is  said  to  tome  the 
\vild  beasts  of  the  forest,  and  perhaps  its  glance  had  subdued 
the  animal  nature  that  triumphed  over  her  more  ethereal  attri- 
butes. I  hoped  most  devoutly  that  my  supposition  might  be 
true ;  for  genuine  affection  exalts  both  the  giver  and  receiver, 
and  opens  ten  thousand  avenues  to  joy  and  good. 

"  You  do  not  look  quite  so  rosy  as  you  did  in  the  country," 
«a:d  he,  looking  earnestly  at  me.  "  The  dissipation  of  a  city 
life  does  not  agree  with  our  wild-wood  fiowers.  They  need  a 
purer  atmosphere." 

"  Gabriella  is  taken  very  good  care  of,"  cried  Madge,  looking 
£si£r.ificantly  at  Ernest.  "  She  is  not  allowed  to  hurt  herself  by 
dissipation,  I  assure  you." 

"  Do  you  imply  that  she  needs  a  restraining  influence  to  keep 
l.er  from  excess  ?  "  asked  Ernest.  He  spoke  lightly,  but  he 
£<?•?  'T  spcke  without  meaning  something. 

"  iS'o,  indeed.  She  is  the  model  wife  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. tShe  is  '  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetcst,  best.'  Solomon 
B.ust  Lave  seen  her  with  prophetic  eye,  when  he  wrote  the  last 
tt.ap>;r  of  Proverbs." 


804  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"Mock  praise  is  the  severest  censure,  Margaret,"  said  I. 

"No  such  thing.  I  mean  every  word  I  say.  Show  rae  a 
young  and  beautiful  wife,  almost  bride,  immuring  herself  as  you 
do,  and  never  seen  in  public  but  clinging  to  her  husband's  arm, 
shrinking  from  admiration  and  blushing  at  a  glance,  and  I  will 
show  you  another  Solomon." 

u  Though  you  may  spaak  in  ridicule,"  said  Ernest,  with  a  con- 
trac^ed  brow,  "  you  have  awarded  her  the  most  glorious  meed 
woman  can  receive.  The  fashion  that  sanctions  a  wife  in 
receiving  the  attentions  of  any  gentleman  but  her  husband,  ia 
the  most  corrupt  and  demoralizing  in  the  world.  It  makes 
wedded  vows  a  mockery,  and  marriage  an  unholy  and  heartless 
rite." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  revolutionize  society  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No ;  but  I  expect  to  keep  my  wife  unspotted  from  the 
world." 

"  I  am  glad  she  has  so  watchful  a  guardian,"  said  Mr.  Regu- 
lus,  regarding  rae  with  his  old-fashioned,  earnest  tenderness. 
"  "We  hear  very  flattering  accounts,"  he  added,  addressing  me, 
"of  our  young  friend,  Richard  Clyde.  He  will  return  next 
summer,  after  a  year's  absence,  having  acquired  as  much  bene- 
fit as  most  young  men  do  in  two  or  three." 

I  could  not  help  blushing,  for  I  knew  the  eyes  of  Ernest 
were  on  me.  He  could  never  hear  the  name  of  Richard  with 
indifference,  and  the  prospect  of  his  return  was  far  from  being 
a  source  of  pleasure  to  him.  Richard  was  very  dear  to  mo  as 
a  friend,  and  I  was  proud  of  his  growing  honors.  Yet  I  a.ired 
not  manifest  the  interest  I  felt. 

Never  had  I  been  so  supremely  happy,  as  since  my  reconcil- 
iation with  Ernest.  I  felt  that  he  had  something  to  forgive, 
much  to  forgive,  and  that  he  was  magnanimous  to  do  it,  consid- 
ering the  weakness  with  which  he  struggled.  Never  had  I 
loved  him  so  entirely,  or  felt  such  confidence  in  my  future  hap- 
piness. Yet  the  moment  the  name  of  Richard  Clyde  waa 
mentioned,  it  sounded  like  a  prophecy  of  evil. 

Oh  that  he  would  transfer  to  Edit".,  the  affjct;.c.ns  given  t> 
me,  and  then  he  could  bind  Ernest  to  his  hea~t  by  the  sjtcrdd 
bonds  of  fraternity  ! 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

* 

THE  lew  days  which  Mr.  Regulus  passed  in  the  city, 
happy  ones  to  me.  He  had  never  visited  it  before  ; 
showed  him  more  respect  and  attention  than  I  had  seen  bisa 
bestow  on  other  men.  I  had  never  betrayed  the  romance  of  the 
academy ;  and  not  dreaming  that  my  preceptor  had  ever  been 
my  lover,  he  tolerated  the  regard  he  manifested,  believing  it 
partook  of  the  paternal  character.  Perhaps,  had  he  remained 
long,  he  would  have  considered  even  this  an  infringement  on 
his  rights ;  but,  to  my  unspeakable  joy,  nothing  occurred  to 
cloud  our  domestic  horizon  during  his  stay.  Once  or  twice 
when  the  name  of  Richard  Clyde  was  mentioned,  I  saw  the 
shadow  of  coming  events  on  the  brow  of  Ernest ;  but  it  passed 
»way,  and  the  evil  day  of  his  return  seemed  very  far  off. 

I  could  not  regret  Margaret's  departure.  There  was  so  en- 
tire a  dissimilarity  in  our  characters,  and  though  I  have  no 
doubt  she  cherished  for  me  all  the  friendship  the  was  capabl-J 
of  feeling,  it  was  of  that  masculine  cast,  that  I  could  not  lido 
shrinking  from  its  manifestations.  Her  embraces  were  bC 
stringent,  her  kisses  so  loud  and  resounding,  I  could  not  roceivs 
them  without  embarrassment,  though  no  one  but  Ernest  mi^ti 
be  near. 

The  evening  before  she  left,  she  was  in  an  unusually  gentlo 
c*ood  We  were  alone  in  my  chamber,  and  she  actually  sat 
iriii  several  moments  without  speaking.  This  was  something 
AS  ominous  as  the  pause  that  precedes  the  earth's  spasmodic 
throes.  I  have  not  spoken  of  Margaret's  destructive  propeid- 
ties,  but  they  were  developed  in  a  most  extraordinary  imixner. 

(305) 


306  XRNE5TL1NWOOD. 

She  had  a  habit  of  seizing  hold  of  every  thing  she  looked  at, 
and  if  it  chanced  to  be  of  delicate  materials,  it  often  shivered  in 
her  grasp.  I  do  not  wonder  poor  Mrs.  Harlowe  trembled  for 
her  glass  and  china,  for  scarcely  a  day  passed  that  her  path 
was  not  strewed  with  ruins,  whose  exquisite  fragments  betrayed 
the  costly  fabric  she  had  destroyed.  Now  it  was  a  beautiful 
porcelain  vase,  which  she  would  have  in  her  hands  to  examine 
and  admire,  then  an  alabaster  statuette  or  frail  crystal  orna- 
ment. If  I  dropped  a  kid  glove,  she  invariably  attempted  to 
put  it  on,  and  her  hand  being  much  larger  than  mine,  she  as 
invariably  tore  it  in  shreds.  She  would  laugh,  roll  up  her  eyes, 
and  exclaim,  "  shocking !  why  this  could  not  be  worth  any 
thing !  I  will  let  it  alone  next  time." 

I  cannot  say  but  that  these  daily  proofs  of  carelessness  and 
destructiveness  were  trials  of  the  temper  and  constant  gratings 
on  the  nerves.  It  was  difficult  to  smile  with  a  frowning  heart, 
for  such  wanton  disregard  for  the  property  and  feelings  of  oth- 
ers must  pain  that  nice  moral  sense  which  is  connected  with  the 
great  law  of  self-preservation. 

This  evening,  she  seized  a  beautiful  perfume  bottle  that  stood 
on  my  toilet,  and  opening  it,  spilled  it  half  on  her  handkerchief, 
though  one  drop  would  fill  the  whole  apartment  with  richest 
odor. 

"  Do  not  break  that  bottle,  Margaret ;  it  is  very  beautiful, 
and  Ernest  gave  it  me  this  very  morning." 

"  Oh !  nonsense,  I  am  the  most  careful  creature  in  the  world. 
Once  in  a  while,  to  be  sure,  —  but  then  accidents  will  happen, 
you  know.  O  Gabriella  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  Mr. 
Harland  wants  me  to  marry  him, —  ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

"  "Well,  you  seemed  pleased,  Margaret.  He  is  an  accom- 
plished gentleman,  and  an  agreeable  one.  Do  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  No !  I  liked  him  very  well,  till  he  wanted  me  to  like  him 
better,  and  now  I  defest  him.  He  is  all  froth,  —  does  not 
know  much  more  than  I  do  myself.  No,  no,  —  that  will 
never  do." 

"Perhaps  you  like  some  one  else  better?"  said  I,  thinking  if 


ERNEST     L  I  N  W  O  O  I>  .  30? 

Margaret  was  ever  caught  in  the  matrimonial  noose,  it  must  bo 
a  lasso,  such  as  are  thrown  round  the  neck  of  the  wild  horses 
of  the  prairies. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ? "  she  asked,  quickly,  and  my 
beautiful  essence  bottle  was  demolished  by  some  sudden  jerk 
which  brought  it  in  contact  with  the  marble  table.  "  The  brittle 
thing  ! "  she  exclaimed,  tossing  the  fragments  on  the  carpet,  at 
the  risk  of  cutting  our  slippers  and  wounding  our  feet.  "I 
would  not  thank  Ernest  for  such  baby  trifles,  —  I  was  scarcely 
touching  it.  What  makes  you  think  I  like  anybody  better  ?  " 

"  I  merely  asked  the  question,"  I  answered,  closing  my  work 
box,  and  drawing  it  nearer,  so  that  her  depredating  fingers  could 
uot  reach  it.  She  had  already  destroyed  half  its  contents. 

"  I  do  like  somebody  a  great  deal  better,"  she  said,  tossing  her 
hair  over  her  forehead  and  veiling  her  eyes ;  "  but  if  you 
guessed  till  doomsday,  you  could  not  imagine  who  it  is." 

"  I  pity  him,  whoever  it  may  be,"  said  I,  laughing. 

«Why?" 

"  You  are  no  more  fit  to  be  a  wife,  Madge,  than  a  child  of  five 
years  old.  You  have  no  more  thought  or  consideration,  fore- 
sight or  care." 

"  I  am  two  years  older  than  you  are,  notwithstanding." 

"  I  fe^T  if  you  live  to  be  a  hundred,  you  will  never  have  the 
qualities  necessary  to  secure  your  own  happiness  and  that  of 
another  in  the  close,  knitting  bonds  of  wedded  life." 

I  spoke  more  seriously  than  I  intended.  I  was  thinking  of 
Mr.  Regulus,  and  most  devoutly  hoped  for  his  sake,  this  wild, 
nondescript  girl  would  never  reach  his  heart  through  the  medium 
of  his  vanity.  She  certainly  paid  him  the  most  dangerous  kind 
of  flattery,  because  it  was  indirect. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  a  sensible  man  might  make  of  me," 
she  said,  shaking  her  head.  "  I  really  wish,  —  I  do  not  know 
—  but  I  sometimes  think  "  — 

She  stopped  and  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  and  her  hair 
fell  shadingly  over  her  face. 

u  What,  Margaret  ?  I  should  like  exceedingly  to  know  your 
inmost  thoughts  and  feelings.  You  seem  to  think  and  feei  so 
20 


SOS  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

little;  —  and  yet,  in  every  woman's  heart  there  mast  be  a  foun- 
tain, —  or  else  what  a  desert  waste,  —  what  a  dreary  wilderness 
it  must  be." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  put  both  hands  over  her  face  and  beii , 
it  downwards,  while  her  shoulders  moved  up  and  down  with  j 
spasmodic  motion.  I  thought  she  was  shaking  with  suppress* ' 
laughter;  and  though  I  could  not  imagine  what  had  excited 
her  mirth,  I  had  known  her  convulsed  by  a  ridiculous  thought  or 
her  own,  in  the  midst  of  general  seriousness. 

But  all  at  once  unmistakable  sobs  broke  forth,  and  I  found 
she  was  crying  heartily,  genuinely,  —  crying  without  any  self 
control,  with  all  the  abandonment  of  a  child. 

"  Margaret !  "  I  exclaimed,  laying  my  hand  gently  on  her 
quivering  shoulder,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  What  can  have 
excited  you  in  this  manner?  Don't,  Madge,  —  you  terrify 
me." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  sobbed.  "  Now  I  have  began,  I  can't 
stop.  O  dear,  what  a  fool  I  am !  There  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  me.  I  do  n't  know  what  makes  me  cry ;  but  I 
can't  help  it,  —  I  hate  myself,  —  I  can't  bear  myself,  and  yet 
I  can't  change  myself.  Nobody  that  I  care  for  will  ever  love 
me.  I  am  such  a  hoyden  —  such  a  romp  —  I  disgust  every 
one  that  comes  near  me ;  and  yet  I  can't  be  gentle  and  sweet 
like  you,  if  I  die.  I  used  to  think  because  I  made  every- 
body laugh,  they  liked  me.  People  said, '  Oh  !  there  's  Madge, 
she  will  keep  us  alive.'  And  I  thought  it  was  a  fine  thing  to 
be  called  Wild  Madge,  and  Meg  the  Dauntless  ;  I  begin  to  hate 
the  names  ;  I  begin  to  blush  when  I  think  of  myself." 

And  Margaret  lifted  her  head,  and  the  feelings  of  lately 
awakened  womanhood  crimsoned  her  cheeks,  and  streamed  from 
her  eyes.  I  was  electrified.  What  prophet  hand  had  smitten 
the  rock  ?  What  power  had  drawn  up  the  rosy  fluid  from  the 
Artesiaj^  well  of  her  heart  ? 

"  My  dear  Margaret,"  I  cried,  "  I  hail  this  moment  as  the 
dawn  of  a  new  life  in  your  soul.  Your  childhood  has  lingered 
long,  but  the  moment  you  feel  that  you  have  the  heart  of  a 
Woman,  you  will  discard  the  follies  of  a  child.  Now  you  begin 


EENEST    LINWOOD.  809 

to  live,  when  you  are  conscious  of  the  golden  moments  you 
have  wasted,  the  noble  capacities  you  have  never  yet  exerted. 
Oh  Margaret,  I  feel  more  and  more  every  day  I  live,  that  I 
was  born  for  something  more  than  the  enjoyment  of  the  passing 
moment,  —  that  life  was  given  for  a  more  exalted  purpose  than 
self-gratification,  and  that  as  we  use  or  abuse  this  gift  of  God 
we  become  heirs  of  glory  or  of  shame." 

Margaret  listened  with  a  subdued  countenance  and  a  long 
drawn  sigh.  She  strenuously  wiped  away  the  traces  of  her 
tears,  and  shook  back  the  hair  from  her  brow,  with  a  resolute 
motion. 

"  You  despise  me  —  I  know  you  do,"  she  said,  gloomily. 

"  No,  indeed,"  I  answered,  "  I  never  liked  you  half  as  well 
before;  I  doubted  your  sensibility.  Now,  I  see  you  can  feel, 
and  feel  acutely.  I  shall  henceforth  think  of  you  with  interest, 
and  speak  of  you  with  tenderness." 

rt  You  are  the  dearest,  sweetest  creature  in  the  world,"  she 
exclaimed,  putting  both  arms  around  me  with  unwonted  gentle- 
ness; "  I  shall  always  love  you,  and  will  try  to  remember  all 
you  have  said  to  me  to-night.  We  shall  meet  in  the  summer, 
and  you  shall  see,  oh  yes,  you  shall  see.  Dear  me  —  what  a 
fright  I  have  made  of  myself." 

She  had  risen,  and  was  glancing  at  herself  in  the  Psyche, 
which,  supported  by  two  charming  Cupids,  reflected  the  figure 
full  length. 

"  I  never  will  cry  again  if  I  can  help  it,"  she  exclaimed. 
"These  horrid  red  circles  round  the  eyes, — and  my  eyes,  too, 
are  as  red  as  a  rabbit's.  The  heroines  of  novels  are  always 
said  to  look  lovelier  in  tears ;  but  you  are  the  only  person  I 
ever  saw  who  looked  pretty  after  weeping." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  me  weep,  Madge  ?  " 

"I  have  noticed  more  than  you  think  I  have,  —  and  believe 
me,  Gabriella,  Ernest  will  have  to  answer  for  every  tear  he 
draws  from  those  angel  eyes  of  yours." 

"  Margaret,  you  know  not  what  you  <?«y.  Ernest  loves  me 
ten  thousand  times  better  than  I  desej*ve.  He  lavishes  on  me 
a  wealth  of  love  that  humbles  me  with  a  consciousness  of  my 


310  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

own  demerits.  His  only  fault  is  loving  me  too  well.  Never 
never  breathe  before  Mrs.  Linwnod  or  Edith,  —  before  a  human 
being,  the  sentiment  you  uttered  now.  Never  repeat  the  idle 
gossip  you  may  have  heard.  If  you  do  speak  of  us,  say  that  I 
have  known  woman's  happiest,  most  blissful  lot.  And  that  I 
would  rather  be  the  wife  of  Ernest  one  year,  than  live  a  life  of 
endless  duration  with  any  other." 

"  It  must  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  loved,"  said  Margaret,  and 
her  black  eyes  flashed  through  the  red  shade  of  tears. 

"And  to  love,"  I  repeated.  "  It  is  more  blessed  to  give,  than 
to  receive." 

A  sympathetic  chord  was  touched,  —  there  was  music  in  it. 
Who  ever  saw  a  person  weep  genuine  tears,  without  feeling  the 
throbbings  of  humanity,  —  the  drawings  of  the  chain  that  binds 
together  all  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Adam?  If  there  are 
such  beings,  I  pity  them. 

Let  them  keep  as  far  from  me  as  the  two  ends  of  the  rainbow 
are  from  each  other.  The  breath  of  the  Deity  has  frozen 
within  them. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

THE  morning  of  Margaret's  departure,  when  Mr.  Regulus 
was  standing  with  gloves  and  hat  in  hand  waiting  her  readiness, 
it  happened  that  I  was  alone  in  the  parlor  with  him  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

"  You  will  have  a  pleasant  journey,"  said  I.  "  You  will  fin  1 
Margaret  an  entertaining  companion." 

"  O  yes  ! "  he  answered,  with  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shouJ 
ders,  "  but  I  fear  she  will  excite  too  much  remark  by  her  wil 
antics.  I  do  not  like  to  be  noticed  by  strangers." 

"  She  will  accommodate  herself  to  your  wishes,  I  know  sh< 
will.  You  have  great  influence  over  her." 

"  Me  !  oh  no  !  "  he  cried,  with  equal  surprise  and  simplicity. 

"  Yes,  indeed  you  have.  Talk  to  her  rationally,  as  if  you 
had  confidence  in  her  good-sense,  Mr.  Regulus,  and  you  will 
really  find  some  golden  wheat  buried  in  the  chaff.  Talk  to  her 
feelingly,  as  if  you  appealed  to  her  sensibility,  and  you  maj 
discover  springs  where  you  believe  no  waters  flow." 

"  It  is  like  telling  me  to  search  for  spring  flowers,  when  the- 
ground  is  all  covered  with  snow,  —  to  look  at  the  moon  shining, 
when  the  night  is  as  dark  as  ebony.  But  I  am  thinking  of 
you,  Gabriella,  more  than  of  her.  I  rejoice  to  find  you  the 
same  artless  child  of  nature  that  sat  at  my  feet  years  ago  ir 
the  greenwood  shade.  But  beautiful  as  is  your  palace  home,  7 
long  to  see  you  again  in  our  lovely  valley  among  the  birds  and 
the  flowers.  I  long  to  see  you  on  the  green  lawn  of  Grandison 
Place." 

"  I  do  feel  more  at  home  at  Grandison  Place,"  I  answered. 

4311) 


812  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

u  I  would  give  more  for  the  velvet  lawn,  the  dear  old  elm,  th* 
oaken  avenue,  than  for  all  the  magnificence  of  this  princely 
mansion." 

"  But  you  are  happy  here,  my  child  ?  " 

"  I  have  realized  the  brightest  dreams  of  youth." 

"  God  be  praised !  —  and  you  have  forgiven  my  past  folly,  — 
you  think  of  me  as  preceptor,  elder  brother,  friend." 

"  My  dear  master ! "  I  exclaimed,  and  tears,  such  as  glisten 
in  the  eyes  of  childhood,  gathered  in  mine.  I  was  a  child 
again,  in  my  mother's  presence,  and  the  shade-trees  of  the  gray 
cottage  seemed  rustling  around  me. 

The  entrance  of  Margaret  interrupted  the  conversation.  She 
never  appeared  to  better  advantage  than  in  her  closely  fitting 
riding  dress,  which  displayed  the  symmetry  of  her  round  and 
elastic  figure.  I  looked  at  her  with  interest,  for  I  had  seen 
those  saucy,  brilliant  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  those  red, 
merry  lips  quivering  with  womanly  sensibility.  I  hoped 
good  things  of  Margaret,  and  though  I  could  not  regret  her 
departure,  I  thought  leniently  of  her  faults,  and  resolved  to 
forget  them. 

"  Just  like  Margaret,"  said  I,  gathering  up  the  beautiful  dra- 
pery, on  which  she  had  trodden  as  she  left  the  room,  and  rent 
from  the  shaft  that  confined  its  folds.  She  stopped  not  to  see 
the  mischief  she  had  done,  for  she  was  so  accustomed  to  hear  a 
crash  and  dash  behind  her,  it  is  not  probable  she  even  no- 
ticed it 

"  Thank  God  ! "  exclaimed  Ernest,  before  the  echo  of  their 
departing  footsteps  had  died  on  the  ear.  "  Thank  God !  we  are 
once  more  alone." 

Mr.  Harland  had  visited  us  but  seldom  since  the  words  of  pas- 
sion which  might  have  been  followed  by  a  scene  of  strife,  but  for 
woman's  restraining  presence,  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of  Ernest. 
One  evening,  he  called  and  asked  a  private  interview  with  Er- 
cest,  and  they  immediately  passed  into  the  library.  I  saw  that 
his  countenance  was  disturbed,  and  vague  apprehensions  filled 
my  mind.  I  could  hear  their  voices  in  earnest,  excited  tones ; 


ERNEST     LTNWOOD.  813 

and  though  I  knew  there  was  no  revelation  to  be  made  which 
Ernest  had  not  already  heard  from  me,  I  felt  a  conviction 
amounting  to  certainty,  that  this  mysterious  interview  had  some 
connection  with  my  unhappy  father,  and  boded  evil  to  me.  Mr. 
Harland  did  not  probably  remain  more  than  an  hour,  but  every 
moment  seemed  an  hour,  drawn  out  by  suspense  and  apprehen- 
sion. He  reentered  the  parlor  with  Ernest,  but  left  immediate- 
ly ;  while  Ernest  walked '  silently  back  and  forth,  as  he  always 
did  when  agitated,  —  his  brows  contracted  with  stern,  intense 
thought.  He  was  excessively  pale,  and  though  his  eyes  did 
not  emit  the  lightning  glance  of  passion,  they  flashed  and  burned 
like  heated  metal. 

I  dared  not  ask  him  the  cause  of  his  emotion,  I  could  only 
watch  him  with  quick-drawn  breath,  and  lips  sealed  with  dread. 
Suddenly  he  put  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  snatching  thence 
the  fatal  casket  I  had  left  in  my  father's  crime-stained  hands, 
he  hurled  it  to  the  floor,  and  trampled  it  under  his  feet. 

"  Behold,"  he  cried,  with  inexpressible  bitterness  and  grief, 
*  my  mother's  gift,  her  sacred  bridal  gift,  —  desecrated,  polluted, 
lost,  —  worse  than  lost !  I  will  not  upbraid  you.  I  would  spare 
you  the  pang  I  myself  endure,  —  but  think  of  the  agonies  in 
which  a  spirit  like  mine  must  writhe,  to  know  that  your  name, 
that  the  name  of  my  wife  is  blazoned  to  the  world,  associated 
with  that  of  a  vile  forger,  an  abandoned  villain,  whose  crimes 
are.  even  now  blackening  the  newspapers,  and  glutting  the  greedy 
appetite  of  slander !  O  rash,  misguided  girl !  what  demon  tempted 
you  to  such  fatal  imprudence  ?  " 

I  sat  immovable,  frozen,  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  carpet,  my 
hands  as  cold  as  ice,  and  my  lips,  as  they  touched  each  other, 
chill  as  icicles.  In  moments  of  sudden  anguish  I  never  lost 
consciousness,  as  many  do,  but  while  my  physical  powers  were 
crushed,  my  mind  seemed  to  acquire  preternatural  sensibility. 
I  suffered  as  we  do  in  dreams,  intensely,  exquisitely,  when 
every  nerve  is  unsheathed,  and  the  spirit  naked  to  the  dagger's 
stroke.  He  stopped  as  he  uttered  this  impassioned  adjuration, 
and  his  countenance  changed  instantaneously  as  he  gazed  on 
mineu 


314  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"  Cruel,  cruel  that  I  am ! "  he  cried,  sitting  down  by  m<t, 
and  wrapping  his  arms  around  me  ;  "I  did  not  know  what  I  wa* 
saying.  I  meant  to  be  gentle  and  forbearing,  but  strong  passion 
rushed  over  me  like  a  whirlwind.  Forgive  me,  Gabriella,  my 
darling,  forgive  me.  Let  the  world  say  what  it  will,  I  know  that 
you  are  pure  and  true.  I  care  not  for  the  money,  —  I  care  not 
for  the  jewels,  —  but  an  unspotted  name.  Oh !  where  now  are 
the  '  liveried  angels '  that  will  guard  it  from  pollution  ?  " 

As  he  folded  me  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  his  cheek  to  mine, 
as  if  striving  to  infuse  into  it  vital  warmth,  I  felt  the  electric 
fluid  flowing  into  my  benumbed  system.  Whatever  had  oc- 
curred, he  had  not  cast  me  off;  and  with  him  to  sustain  me,  I  was 
strong  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the  moment.  I  looked  up  in  his 
face,  and  he  read  the  expression  of  my  soul,  —  I  know  he  did,  for 
he  clasped  me  closer  to  him,  and  the  fire  of  his  eyes  grew  dim,  — 
dim,  through  glistening  tears.  And  then  he  told  me  all  my 
beseeching  glances  sought.  More  than  a  week  before,  even 
before  that,  he  had  learned  that  a  forgery  had  been  committed 
in  his  name,  involving  a  very  large  sum  of  money.  Liberal 
rewards  had  been  offered  for  the  discovery  of  the  villain,  and 
that  day  he  had  been  brought  to  the  city.  My  diamonds,  on 
whose  setting  Mrs.  Linwood  had  had  my  name  engraven,  were 
found  in  his  possession.  He  had  not  spoken  to  me  of  the 
forgery,  not  wishing  to  trouble  me,  he  said,  on  a  subject  of  such 
minor  importance.  It  was  the  publicity  given  to  my  name,  in 
association  with  his,  that  caused  the  bitterness  of  his  anguish. 
And  I,  —  I  knew  that  my  father  had  robbed  my  husband  in 
the  vilest,  most  insidious  manner ;  that  he  had  drawn  upon 
nimself  the  awful  doom  of  a  forger,  a  dungeon  home,  a  living 
death. 

My  father !  the  man  whom  my  mother  had  loved.  The  re- 
membrance of  this  love,  so  long-enduring,  so  much  forgiving, 
hung  like  a  glory  round  him.  It  was  the  halo  of  a  saint  encir- 
cling the  brow  of  the  malefactor. 

"  Will  they  not  suppose  the  jewels  were  stolen  ?  "  I  asked, 
with  the  calmness  of  desperation.  "  Surely  the  world  cannot 
they  were  given  by  me ;  and  though  it  is  painful  to  be 


EKNEST    LIN  WO  Ob.  Blv 

associated  with  so  dark  a  transaction,  I  see  nc  t,  dear  Ernest 
why  my  reputation  should  be  clouded  by  this  ?  " 

"  Al£,s  !  Gabriella,  —  you  were  seen  by  more  than  one  walk- 
ing with  him  in  the  park.  You  were  seen  entering  the  jeweller's 
shop,  and  afterwai'ds  meeting  him  in  Broadway.  Even  in  tho 
act  of  giving  your  shawl  to  the  poor  shivering  woman,  yor 
were  watched.  You  believed  yourself  unremarked;  but  the 
bHnd  man  might  as  well  think  himself  unseen  walking  in  the 
blaze  of  noonday,  because  his  own  eyes  are  bound  by  the  fillet 
of  darkness,  as  you  expect  to  pass  unnoticed  through  a  gaping 
throng.  Mr.  Harland  told  me  of  these  things,  that  I  might  be 
prepared  to  repel  the  arrows  of  slander  which  would  inevitably 
be  aimed  at  the  bosom  of  my  wife." 

"  But  you  told  him  that  it  was  my  father.  That  it  was  to 
save  him  from  destruction  I  gave  them.  Oh  Ernest,  you  told 
him  all !  " 

"  I  have  no  right  to  reveal  your  secret,  Gabriella.  If  he  bo 
indeed  your  father,  let  eternal  secrecy  veil  his  name.  Would 
you  indeed  consent  that  the  world  should  know  that  it  was  your 
father  who  had  committed  so  dark  a  crime  ?  Would  you, 
Gabriella  ?  " 

"  I  would  far  rather  be  covered  with  ignominy  as  a  daughter, 
than  disgrace  as  a  wife,"  I  answered,  while  burning  blushes 
dyed  my  cheeks  at  the  possibility  of  the  last.  "  The  first  will 
not  reflect  shame  or  humiliation  on  you.  You  have  raised  me 
generously,  magnanimously,  to  your  own  position  ;  and  though 
the  world  may  say  that  you  yielded  to  weakness  in  loving  me, 
—  a  poor  and  simple  girl.  —  Nay,  nay ;  I  recall  my  words, 
Ernest ;  I  will  not  wrong  myself,  because  clouds  and  darkness 
gather  round  me.  You  did  not  stoop,  or  lower  yourself,  by 
wedding  me.  Love  made  us  equal.  My  proud,  aspiring  love, 
looked  up;  yours  bent  to  meet  its  worship,  —  and  both  united, 
as  the  waves  of  ocean  unite,  in  fulness,  depth,  and  strength,  — 
and,  like  them,  have  found  their  level.  Let  the  world  know 
that  I  am  the  daughter  of  St.  James ;  that,  moved  by  his 
prayers  and  intimidated  by  his  threats,  I  met  him  and  attempt- 
ed to  &ave  him  from  ruin.  They  may  say  that  I  was  rash  and 


516  ERNEST     LINWOOO. 

imprudent ;  but  they  dare  not  call  me  guilty.  There  is  a  voico 
in  every  heart  which  is  not  palsied,  or  deadened,  or  dumb,  that 
•will  plead  in  my  defence.  The  child  who  endeavors  to  shield  a 
father  from  destruction,  however  low  and  steeped  in  sin  he  may 
be,  cannot  be  condemned.  If  I  am,  I  care  not ;  but  oh,  Ernest, 
as  your  wife,  let  me  not  suffer  reproach,  —  for  your  sake,  my 
busband,  far  more  than  mine." 

As  thus  I  pleaded  with  all  the  eloquence  and  earnestness  of 
my  nature,  with  my  hands  clasped  in  his,  their  firm,  close,  yet 
gentle  fold  grew  firmer,  closer  still ;  and  the  cloud  passing  away 
from  his  countenance,  it  became  luminous  as  I  gazed. 

"  You  are  right,  —  you  are  true,"  said  he,  "  my  dear,  my 
noble  Gabriella.  Every  shadow  of  a  doubt  vanishes  before  the 
testimony  of  your  unselfish  heart.  Why  did  I  not  see  this  sub 
ject  in  the  same  clear,  just  light  ?  Because  my  eyes  are  too 
often  blinded  by  the  mists  of  passion.  Yes !  you  have  pointed 
out  the  only  way  of  extrication.  The  story  of  your  mother's 
wrongs  will  not  necessarily  be  exposed ;  and  if  it  is,  the  sacred 
icgis  of  your  filial  love  will  guard  it  from  desecration.  "We 
shall  not  remain  here  long.  Spring  will  soon  return  ;  and  in 
tbe  sweet  quietude  of  rural  life,  we  will  forget  the  tumultuous 
scenes  of  this  modern  Babel.  You  will  not  wish  to  return  ?  " 

"  No  !  never,  never.  That  unhappy  man  !  what  will  be  his 
doom  ?  " 

"  Probably  life-long  imprisonment.  Had  I  known  who  the 
offender  was,  I  would  have  prayed  the  winds  and  waves  to  bear 
him  to  Icelandic  seas,  rather  than  have  had  his  crime  published 
to  the  world.  It  is,  however,  the  retribution  of  heaven  ;  and 
•we  must  submit." 

"  It  seems  so  strange,"  said  I,  "  to  think  of  him  alive,  whose 
existence  so  long  seemed  to  me  a  blank.  When  I  was  a  child, 
I  used  to  indulge  in  wild  dreams  about  my  unknown  parent.  I 
pictured  him  as  one  of  the  gods  of  mythology,  veiling  his  divin- 
ity in  flesh  for  the  love  of  the  fairest  of  the  daughters  of  men. 
The  mystery  that  wrapped  his  name  was,  to  my  imagination, 
like  the  cloud  mantling  the  noonday  sun.  With  such  views  of 
my  lineage,  which,  though  they  became  subdued  as  I  gre\* 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  31"! 

older,  were  still  exaggerated  and  romantic,  —  think  of  the  awful 
plunge  into  the  disgraceful  truth.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should 
have  died  on  my  mother's  grave,  had  not  your  arms  of  love 
raised  me,  —  had  you  not  breathed  into  my  ear  words  that  called 
me  back  from  the  cold  grasp  of  death  itself.  In  the  brightness 
of  the  future  I  forgot  the  gloom  of  the  past.  Oh  !  had  I  sup- 
posed that  he  lived,  —  that  he  would  come  to  bring  on  me  pub- 
lic shame  and  sorrow,  and  through  me,  on  you,  my  husband,  I 
never  would  have  exposed  you  to  the  sufferings  of  this  night." 

And  I  clung  to  him  with  an  entireness  of  confidence,  a  ful- 
ness of  gratitude  that  swelled  my  heart  almost  to  bursting. 
His  face,  beaming  with  unclouded  love  and  trust,  seemed  to  me 
as  the  face  of  an  angel.  I  cared  not  for  obloquy  or  shame, 
since  he  believed  me  true.  I  remembered  the  words  of  the 
tender,  the  devoted  Gertrude  :  — 

"  I  have  been  with  thee  in  thine  hour 

Of  glory  and  of  bliss, 
Doubt  not  its  memory's  living  power 
To  strengthen  me  in  this." 

But  though  my  mind  was  buoyed  up  by  the  exaltation  of  my 
feelings,  my  physical  powers  began  to  droop.  I  inherited  some- 
thing of  my  mother's  constitutional  weakness  ;  and,  su«ldenlv  as 
the  leaden  weight  falls  when  a  clock  has  run  down  and  the 
machinery  ceases  to  play,  a  heavy  burden  of  lethargy  soUK-d 
down  upon  me,  and  I  was  weak  and  helpless  as  a  child.  Dull 
pain  throbbed  in  my  brain,  as  if  it  were  girdled  by  a  hard,  tight- 
ening band. 

It  was  several  days  before  I  left  my  bed,  and  more  than  a 
week  before  I  Glutted  my  chamber.  The  recollection  of  Er- 
nest's tender  watchfulness  during  these  days  of  illness,  even 
now  suffuses  my  eyes  with  tears.  Had  I  been  a  dying  infant 
he  could  not  have  hung  over  me  with  more  anxious,  unslumber- 
ing  care.  Oh  !  whatever  were  his  faults,  his  virtues  redeemed 
them.  all.  Oh  !  the  unfathomable  depths  of  his  love  !  I  was 
then  willing  to  die,  so  fearful  was  I  of  passing  out  of  thia 
heavenly  light  of  home  joy  into  the  coldness  of  doubt,  the  gloom 
of  suspicion. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

Ernest,  with  all  his  proneness  to  exaggerate  the  importance 
cf  my  actions,  did  not  do  so  in  reference  to  this  unhappy  trans- 
action. Paragraphs  were  inserted  in  the  papers,  in  which  the 
initials  of  my  name  were  inserted  in  large  capitals  to  attract  the 
gazing  eye.  The  meeting  in  the  Park,  the  jewels  found  in 
the  possession  of  the  forger,  the  abrupt  manner  in  which  they 
were  taksn  from  the  jeweller's  shop,  even  the  gray  shawl  and 
green  veil,  were  minutely  described.  Ernest  had  made  ene- 
mies by  the  haughty  reserve  of  his  manners  and  the  exclusive- 
ness  of  his  habits,  and  they  stabbed  him  in  secret  where  he  was 
most  vulnerable. 

A  brief  sketch  of  the  real  circumstances  and  the  causes 
which  led  to  them,  was  published  in  reply.  It  was  written  with 
manly  boldness,  but  guarded  delicacy,  and  rescued  my  name 
from  the  fierce  clutch  of  slander.  Then  followed  glowing  eulo- 
giums  on  the  self-sacrificing  daughter,  the  young  and  beautiful 
wife,  till  Ernest's  sensitive  spirit  must  have  bled  over  the  noto- 
riety given  to  her,  whom  he  considered  as  sacred  as  the  priestess 
of  some  holy  temple,  and  whose  name  was  scarcely  to  be  men- 
tioned but  in  prayer. 

The  only  comment  he  made  on  them  was,  — 

u  My  mother  and  Edith  will  see  these." 

"  I  will  write  and  tell  them  all,"  I  answered  ;  "  it  will  be  too 
painful  to  you." 

u  "We  will  both  write,"  he  said ;  and  we  did. 

"  You  blame  yourself  too  much,"  cried  he,  when  he  perused 
my  letter. 

"  You  speak  too  kindly,  too  leniently  of  me,"  said  I,  after 
reading  his ;  "  yet  I  am  glad  and  grateful.  Your  mother  will 
judge  me  from  the  facts,  and  nothing  that  you  or  I  can  say  will 
warp  or  influence  her  judgment.  She  understands  so  clearly 
the  motives  of  action,  —  she  reads  so  closely  your  character 
and  mine,  I  feel  that .  her  decision  will  be  as  righteous  as  the 
decree  of  eternal  justice.  Oh  that  I  were  with  her  now,  for  my 
§oul  looks  to  her  as  an  ark  of  safety.  Like  the  poor  weary 
dove,  it  longs  to  repose  its  drooping  wings  and  fold  them  ia 
trembling  joy  on  her  sheltering  breast." 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  319 

I  will  not  speak  of  the  trial,  the  condemnation,  or  the  agony 
I  felt,  when  I  learned  that  my  father  was  doomed  to  expiate  his 
crime  by  solitary  confinement  for  ten  long  years.  Could  Er- 
nest have  averted  this  fate  from  him,  for  my  sake  he  would 
have  done  it ;  but  the  majesty  of  the  law  was  supreme,  and  ro 
individual  effort  could  change  its  just  decree.  My  affections 
were  not  wounded,  for  I  never  could  recall  his  image  without 
personal  repugnance,  but  my  mother's  remembrance  was  asso- 
ciated with  him;  —  I  remembered  her  dying  injunctions,  —  her 
prophetic  dream.  I  thought  of  the  heaven  which  he  had  for- 
feited, the  God  whose  commandments  he  had  broken,  the 
Saviour  whose  mercy  he  had  scorned.  I  wanted  to  go  to 
him,  —  to  minister  to  him  in  his  lonely  cell,  —  to  try  to  rouse 
him  to  a  sense  of  his  transgressions,  —  to  lead  him  to  the  God 
he  had  forsaken,  the  Redeemer  he  had  rejected,  the  heaven 
from  which  my  mother  seemed  stretching  her  spirit  arms  to  woo 
him  to  her  embrace. 

"  My  mother  dreamed  that  I  drew  him  from  a  black  abyss," 
said  I  to  Ernest ;  "  she  dreamed  that  I  was  the  guardian  angel 
of  his  soul.  Let  me  go  to  him,  —  let  me  fulfil  my  mission.  I 
shudder  when  I  look  around  me  in  these  palace  walls,  and 
think  that  a  parent  groans  in  yonder  dismal  tombs." 

"/will  go,"  replied  Ernest;  "I  will  tell  him  your  filial  wish, 
and  if  I  find  you  can  do  him  good,  I  will  accompany  yo«. 
there." 

"  I  can  do  him  good,  —  I  can  pity  and  forgive  him,  —  I  can 
talk  to  him  of  my  mother,  and  that  will  lead  him  to  think  of 
heaven.  '  I  was  sick  and  in  prison  and  ye  came  unto  me.'  Oh, 
thus  our  Saviour  said,  identifying  himself  with  the  sons  of  ig- 
nominy and  sorrow.  Go,  and  if  you  find  his  heart  softened  by 
repentance,  pour  balm  and  oil  into  the  wounds  that  sin  ha« 
made.  Go,  and  let  me  follow." 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

"AND  did  you  see  him,  Ernest?"  I  asked,  with  trembling 
eagerness. 

"  I  did,  Gabriella,  I  went  to  him  as  your  representative, 
without  one  vindictive,  bitter  feeling.  I  proffered  kindness,  for- 
giveness, and  every  comfort  the  law  would  permit  a  condemned 
criminal  to  enjoy.  They  were  rejected  fiercely,  disdainfully,  — 
he  rejected  them  all." 

"  Alas !  and  me,  Ernest ;  does  he  refuse  consolation  from 
me?" 

"  He  will  not  see  you.  '  I  ask  no  sympathy,'  he  cried,  iu 
hoarse  and  sullen  accents.  'I  desire  no  fellowship;  alone  I 
have  sinned,  —  alone  I  will  suffer,  —  alone  I  will  die.'  Weep 
not,  my  Gabriella,  over  this  hardened  wretch ;  I  do  not  believe 
he  is  your  father ;  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  he  is  an 
impostor.'* 

"  But  he  has  my  mother's  miniature ;  he  recognized  me  from 
my  resemblance  to  it ;  he  called  me  by  name ;  he  knew  all  the 
circumstances  of  my  infantine  life.  I  would  give  worlds  to  be- 
lieve your  assertion,  but  the  curse  clings  to  me.  He  is,  —  he 
must  be  my  father.'' 

"  Mr.  Brahan,  who  knew  your  father  personally,  and  who  is 
deeply  interested  in  the  disclosures  recently  made,  has  visited 
him  also.  He  says  there  is  a  most  extraordinary  resemblance  ; 
and  though  seventeen  years  of  sinful  indulgence  leave  terrible 
traces  on  the  outward  man,  he  does  not  doubt  his  identity.  But 
I  cannot,  will  not  admit  it.  Think  of  him  no  more,  Gabriella  ; 
banish  him,  and  every  thing  connected  with  this  horrible  event, 
from  your  mind.  In  other  scenes  you  will  recover  from  tha 

'320) 


EBNESTLINWOOD.  821 

shock  occasioned  by  it ;  and  even  now  the  tongue  of  rumor  ia 
busy  with  more  recent  themes.  Mr.  Brahan  will  visit  him  from 
time  to  time  and,  if  possible,  learn  something  of  the  mystery 
of  his  life.  Whatever  is  learned  will  be  communicated  to  me. 
What !  weeping  still,  my  Gabriella  ?  " 

"  It  is  dreadful  to  think  of  sin  and  crime  in  the  abstract;  but 
when  it  comes  before  us  in  the  person  of  a  father ! " 

"  No  more  !  no  more  !  Dismiss  the  subject.  Let  it  be  hence- 
forth a  dark  dream,  forgotten  if  possible ;  or  if  remembered,  be  it 
as  a  dispensation  of  Providence,  to  be  borne  in  silence  and  sub- 
mioriion.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  all  that  I  have  suffered  of 
humiliation  and  anguish  in  this  real  trial,  cannot  be  compared 
to  tne  agony  caused  by  one  of  my  own  dark  imaginings." 

I  tried  to  obey  the  injunctions  of  Ernest ;  but  though  my 
lips  were  silent,  it  was  impossible  to  check  the  current  of 
thought,  or  to  obliterate  the  dark  remembrance  of  the  past.  My 
spirits  lost  their  elasticity,  the  ro^es  on  my  cheek  grew  pale. 

Spring  came,  not  as  in  the  country,  with  the  rich  garniture  of 
living  green,  clothing  hill,  valley,  and  lawn,  —  the  blossoming  oi 
riowers,  —  the  warbling  of  birds,  —  the  music  of  waters,  —  and 
all  the  beauty,  life,  and  glory  of  awakening  nature.  But  the  foun- 
tain played  once  more  in  the  grotto,  the  vine-wreaths  frolicked 
again  round  their  graceful  shells,  the  statues  looked  at  their 
pure  faces  in  the  shining  mural  wall. 

I  cared  not  for  these.  This  was  not  my  home.  I  saw  the 
faces  of  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith  in  the  mirror  of  memory.  I 
saw  the  purple  hills,  the  smiling  vale,  the  quiet  churchyard,  the 
white,  broken  shaft,  gleaming  through  the  willow  boughs,  and 
the  moonbeams  resting  in  solemn  glory  there. 

Never  shall  I  forget  my  emotions  when,  on  quitting  the  city, 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  that  gloomy  and  stupendous  granite  pile 
which  looms  up  in  the  midst  of  grandeur  and  magnificence,  an 
awful  monitor  to  human  depravity.  Well  does  it  become  its 
chill,  funereal  name.  Shadows  deeper  than  the  darkness  of  the 
grave  hang  within  its  huge  Egyptian  columns.  Corruption 
more  loathsome  than  the  mouldering  remains  of  mortality 
dwells  in  those  lone  and  accursed  cells.  I  gazed  on  the  massy 


822  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

walls,  as  they  frowned  on  the  soft  blue  sky,  till  their  shadow 
seemed  to  darken  the  heavens.  I  thought  of  the  inmate  of  one 
lonely  cell ;  of  the  sighs  and  tears,  the  curses  and  wailings 
that  had  gone  up  from  that  abode  of  shame,  despair,  and  mis- 
ery ;  and  I  wondered  why  the  Almighty  did  not  rend  the  heav- 
ens and  come  down  and  bare  the  red  right  arm  of  vengeance 
over  a  world  so  blackened  by  sin,  so  stained  by  crime,  and  so 
given  up  to  the  dominion  of  the  spirit  of  evil. 

Ernest  drew  me  back  from  the  window  of  the  carriage,  that 
I  might  not  behold  this  grim  fortification  against  the  powers  of 
darkness ;  but  it  was  not  till  we  had  quitted  the  walls  of  the 
metropolis,  and  inhaled  a  purer  atmosphere,  that  I  began  to 
breathe  more  freely.  The  tender  green  of  the  fields,  the 
freshness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  indescribable  odor  of  spring 
that  embalmed  the  gale,  awakened  softer,  happier  thoughts. 
The  footsteps  of  divine  love  were  visible  on  the  landscape. 
The  voice  of  God  was  heard,  breathing  of  mercy,  through  the 
cool  green  boughs. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

ONCE  more  at  Grandison  Place !  Once  more  on  the  breezy 
height  which  commanded  the  loveliest  valley  creation  ever 
formed !  Light,  bloom,  joy  came  back  to  eye,  cheek,  and  heart, 
as  I  hailed  again  the  scene  where  the  day-spring  of  love  dawned 
on  my  life. 

"  God  made  the  country." 

Yes !  I  felt  this  truth  in  every  bounding  vein.  "  God  made 
the  country,"  —  with  its  rich  sweep  of  verdant  plains,  its  blue 
winding  streams,  shedding  freshness  and  murmuring  music 
through  the  smiling  fields ;  its  silver  dews,  its  golden  sunsets, 
and  all  its  luxuriance  and  greenness  and  bloom.  The  black 
shadow  of  the  Tombs  did  not  darken  this  Eden  of  my  youth. 

Mrs.  Lin  wood  and  Edith  —  I  was  with  them  once  more. 
Mrs.  Linwood,  in  her  soft  twilight  robe  of  silver  grey ;  and 
Edith,  with  her  wealth  of  golden  locks,  and  eye  of  heaven's  own 
azure. 

"  You  must  not  leave  us  again,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  as  she 
clasped  us  both  in  her  maternal  arms.  "  There  are  but  few  of 
us,  and  we  should  not  be  separated.  Absence  is  the  shadow  of 
death,  and  falls  coldly  on  the  heart" 

She  glanced  towards  Edith,  whose  beautiful  face  was  paler 
and  thinner  than  it  was  wont  to  be.  She  had  pined  for  the 
brother  of  whom  I  had  robbed  her ;  for  the  world  offered  her 
nothing  to  fill  the  void  left  in  the  depths  of  her  loving  heart. 
We  were  all  happier  together.  We  cannot  give  ourselves 
up  to  the  dominion  of  an  exclusive  passion,  whatever  it  may  be, 
without  an  outrage  to  nature,  which  sooner  or  later  revenges  the 
wrong  mflJctwl.  With  all  ray  romantic  love  for  Ernest,  I  had 
21  (323> 


824  ERNEST     LINWCOD. 

often  sighed  for  the  companionship  of  one  of  my  own  sex  ;  and 
now,  restored  to  Edith,  whom  I  had  always  regarded  a  little 
lower  than  the  angels,  I  felt  that  if  love  was  more  rapturous 
than  friendship,  it  was  not  more  divine. 

They  knew  that  I  had  suffered.  They  had  sympathized  with 
me,  pitied  me,  —  (if  Mrs.  Linwood  blamed  me  for  imprudence, 
she  never  expressed  it)  ;  and  I  felt  that  they  loved  me  better 
for  having  passed  under  the  cloud.  There  was  no  allusion 
made  to  the  awful  events  which  were  present  in  the  minds  of 
all,  on  our  first  reunion.  If  Mrs.  Linwood  noticed,  that  after 
the  glow  of  excitement  faded  from  my  cheek  it  was  paler  than 
it  was  wont  to  be,  she  did  not  tell  me  so,  but  her  kiss  was  more 
tender,  her  glance  more  kind.  There  was  something  in  her 
mild,  expressive  eyes,  that  I  translated  thus :  — 

"  Thank  God  that  another  hand  than  Ernest's  has  stolen  the 
rose  from  thy  cheek  of  youth.  Better,  far  better  to  be  humbled 
by  a  father's  crimes,  than  blighted  by  a  husband's  jealousy." 

This  evening  reminded  me  so  much  of  the  first  I  ever  passed 
with  Ernest.  He  asked  Editli  for  the  music  of  her  harp  ;  and 
I  sat  in  the  recess  of  the  window,  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtains, 
through  whose  transparent  drapery  the  moonbeams  stole  in  and 
kissed  my  brow.  Ernest  came  and  sat  down  beside  me,  and  my 
hand  was  clasped  in  his.  As  the  sweet  strains  floated  round  us, 
they  seemed  to  mingle  with  the  moonlight,  and  my  spirit  was 
borne  up  on  waves  of  brightness  and  melody.  Always  before, 
when  listening  to  Edith's  angelic  voice,  I  had  wished  for  the  same 
enchanting  power.  I  had  felt  that  thus  I  could  sing,  I  could 
play,  had  art  developed  the  gifts  of  nature,  only  with  deeper 
passion  and  sensibility ;  but  now  I  listened  without  conscious 
desire,  —  passive,  happy,  willing  to  receive,  without  desiring  to 
impart.  I  felt  like  the  pilgrim  who,  after  a  sultry  day  of  weari- 
ness, pauses  by  a  cool  spring,  and,  laying  himself  down  beneath 
its  gushing,  suffers  the  stream  to  flow  over  him,  —  till,  pene- 
trated by  their  freshness,  his  soul  seems  a  fountain  of  living 
waters.  Oh !  the  divine  rapture  of  repose,  Jitter  restlessness 
and  conflict !  I  had  passed  the  brrak- -rs.  Henrefonh  my  life 
would  be  calm  and  placid  as  the  beams  t^a;  Illumined  Lto 
light. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  325 

And  now  I  am  tempted  to  lay  down  the  pen.  I  w.  mid  not 
treary  thee,  friend  of  my  lonely  hours,  whoever  thou  art,  by  a 
repetition  of  scenes  which  show  how  poor  and  weak  are  tho 
strongest  human  resolutions,  when  temptations  assail  and  pas- 
sions rise  with  the  swell  and  the  might  of  the  stormy  billows. 
But  if  I  record  weaknesses  and  errors,  such  as  seldom  sadden 
the  annals  of  domestic  life,  it  is  that  God  may  be  glorified  in 
the  humiliation  of  man.  It  is  that  the  light  of  the  sun  of 
righteousness  may  be  seen  to  arise  with  healing  in  his  beams, 
while  the  mists  of  error  and  the  clouds  of  passion  are  left  roll- 
ing below. 

Yes !  We  were  all  happy  for  a  while,  and  in  the  midst  of 
such  pure,  reviving  influences,  I  became  blooming  and  elastic  as 
a  mountain  maid.  Dr.  Harlowe  was  the  same  kind,  genial, 
warm-hearted  friend.  Mr.  Regulus,  the  same  —  no,  he  was 
changed,  —  improved,  softened  still  more  than  when  he  surprised 
me  by  his  graces,  in  my  metropolitan  home.  He  looked  several 
years  younger,  and  a  great  deal  handsomer. 

Had  Margaret  wrought  this  improvement  ?  Had  she  indeed 
supplanted  me  in  my  tutor's  guileless  heart  ?  I  inquired  of 
Edith  after  the  wild  creature,  whom  I  suspected  some  secret 
influence  was  beginning  to  tame. 

"  Oh !  you  have  no  idea  how  Madge  is  improved,  since  her 
visit  to  you,"  she  answered.  "  She  sometimes  talks  sensibly  for 
five  minutes  at  a  time,  and  I  have  actually  caught  her  singing 
and  playing  a  sentimental  air.  Mamma  says  if  she  were  in 
love  with  a  man  of  sense  and  worth,  he  might  make  of  her  a 
most  invaluable  character." 

"  Mr.  Regulus,  for  instance  ! "  said  I. 

Edith  laughed  most  musically. 

"  Mr.  Regulus  in  love !  that  would  be  a  farce." 

"  I  have  seen  that  farce  performed,"  said  Dr.  Harlowe,  who 
happened  to  come  in  at  that  moment,  and  caught  her  last  words. 
"  I  have  seen  Mr.  Regulus  as  much  in  love  as  —  let  me  see," 
glancing  at  me,  "  as  Richard  Clyde." 

Mr  eh  as  I  liked  Dr.  Harlowe  I  felt  angry  with  him  for  a& 


826  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

allusion,  which  always  called  the  cloud  to  Ernest's  brow,  and 
the  blush  to  my  cheek. 

"  Do  tell  me  the  object  of  his  romantic  passion  ?  "  cried  Edith, 
•who  seemed  excessively  amused  at  the  idea. 

"  Am  I  telling  tales  out  of  school  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  looking 
merrily  at  me.  "  Do  you  not  know  the  young  enchantress,  who 
has  turned  all  the  heads  in  our  town,  not  excepting  the  shoe- 
maker's apprentice  and  the  tailor's  journeyman  ?  Poor  Mr. 
Regulus  could  not  escape  the  fascination.  The  old  story  of 
Beauty  and  the  Beast,  —  only  Beauty  was  inexorable  this 
time." 

"  Gabriella ! "  exclaimed  Edith,  with  unutterable  astonish- 
ment ;  "  he  always  called  her  his  child.  "Who  would  have  be- 
lieved it  ?  Why,  Gabriella,  how  many  victims  have  your 
chariot  wheels  of  conquest  rolled  over  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  if  /  had  not  been  a  married  man,  she  would 
have  added  me  to  the  number,"  said  the  doctor,  with  much  gravity. 
"  I  am  not  certain  that  Mrs.  Harlowe  is  not  jealous,  in  secret,  of 
my  public  devotion." 

Who  would  believe  that  light  words  like  these,  carelessly 
uttered,  and  forgotten  with  the  breath  that  formed  them,  should 
rankle  like  arrows  in  a  breast  where  reason  was  enthroned? 
But  it  was  even  so.  The  allusion  to  Richard  Clyde,  the  revelation 
of  Mr.  Regulus'  romantic  attachment,  even  the  playful  remarks 
of  Dr.  Harlowe  relative  to  his  wife's  jealousy,  were  gall  and 
wormwood,  embittering  the  feelings  of  Ernest.  He  frowned, 
bit  his  lip,  rose,  and  walked  into  the  piazza.  His  mother's  eyes 
followed  him  with  that  look  which  I  had  so  often  seen  before 
our  marriage,  and  which  I  now  understood  too  well.  I  made  an 
involuntary  movement  to  follow  him,  but  her  glance  commanded 
me  to  remain.  The  doctor,  who  was  in  a  merry  mood,  continued 
his  sportive  remarks,  without  appearing  to  notice  the  darkened 
countenance  and  absence  of  Ernest.  I  talked  and  smiled  too 
at  his  good-humored  sallies,  that  he  might  not  perceive  my  anx- 
ious, wounded  feeh'ngs. 

A  little  while  after  Mr.  Regulus  called,  and  Ernest  accom« 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  327 

parried  him  to  the  parlor  door  with  an  air  of  sucL  freezing 
coldness,  I  wonder  it  did  not  congeal  his  warm  and  unsuspect- 
ing heart.  And  there  Ernest  stood  with  folded  arms,  leaning 
back  against  the  wall  just  within  the  door,  stern  and  silent, 
casting  a  dark  shadow  on  my  soul.  Poor  Mr.  Regulus,  —  now 
he  knew  he  had  been  my  lover,  he  would  scarcely  permit  him 
to  be  my  friend. 

"  Oh ! "  thought  I,  blushing  to  think  how  moody  and  strange 
he  must  seem  to  others,  — "  surely  my  happiness  is  based  on 
sand,  since  the  transient  breath  of  others  can  shake  it  from  its 
foundation.  If  it  depended  on  myself,  I  would  guard  every 
look,  word,  and  action,  with  never  sleeping  vigilance  ;  —  but  how 
can  I  be  secured  against  the  casual  sayings  of  others,  words 
unmeaning  as  a  child's,  and  as  devoid  of  harm  ?  I  might  as 
well  make  cables  of  water  and  walls  of  foam,  as  build  up  a 
fabric  of  domestic  felicity  without  confidence  as  the  foundation 
stone." 

As  these  thoughts  arose  in  my  mind,  my  heart  grew  hard 
and  rebellious.  The  golden  chain  of  love  clanked  and  chafed 
against  the  bosom  it  attempted  to  imprison. 

"  I  will  not,"  I  repeated  to  myself,  "  alienate  from  me,  by 
coolness  and  gloom,  the  friends  who  have  loved  me  from  my 
orphan  childhood.  Let  him  be  morose  and  dark,  if  he  will ;  I 
will  not  follow  his  example.  I  will  not  be  the  slave  of  his  mad 
caprices." 

"  No,"  whispered  the  angel  over  my  right  shoulder,  "  but  you 
will  be  the  forbearing,  gentle  wife,  who  promised  to  endure  all. 
knowing  his  infirmity,  before  you  breathed  your  wedded  vows. 
You  are  loved  beyond  the  sober  reality  of  common  life.  Your 
prayer  is  granted.  You  dare  not  murmur.  You  have  held  out 
your  cup  for  the  red  wine.  There  is  fire  in  its  glow.  You  can- 
not turn  it  into  water  now.  There  is  no  divine  wanderer  on 
earth  to  reverse  the  miracle  of  Cana.  Peace'  is  woman's 
watchword,  and  heaven's  holiest,  latest  legacy." 

As  I  listened  to  the  angel's  whisper,  the  voices  of  those 
around  me  entered  not  my  ear.  I  was  as  far  away  from  them 
as  if  pillowed  on  the  clouds,  whose  silver  edges  crinkled  round 
the  moon. 


828  K  R  N  K  S  T      L  I  N  TC  0  O  D  . 

As  soon  as  our  guests  had  departed,  Ernest  went  up  to  Edith, 
and  putting  his  arm  round  her,  drew  her  to  the  harp. 

"  Sing  for  me,  Edith,  for  my  spirit  is  dark  and  troubled. 
You  alone  have  power  to  soothe  it.  You  are  the  David  of  the 
haunted  Saul." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face  suddenly,  and  leaned  her  head  on 
his  shoulder.  Perhaps  at  that  moment  she  felt  the  joy  of  being 
to  him  all  that  she  had  been,  before  he  had  known  and  loved 
me.  He  had  appealed  to  her,  in  the  hour  of  darkness.  He  had 
passed  me  by,  as  though  I  were  not  there.  He  sat  down 
close  to  her  as  she  played,  so  close  that  her  fair  ringlets  swept 
against  his  cheek ;  and  as  she  sang,  she  turned  towards  him 
with  such  a  loving  smile,  —  such  a  sweet,  happy  expression,  — 
just  as  she  used  to  wear!  I  always  loved  to  hear  Edith  sing; 
but  now  my  spirit  did  not  harmonize  with  the  strains.  Again  a 
stinging  sense  of  injustice  quickened  the  pulsations  of  my  heart. 
Again  I  asked  myself,  "  What  had  I  done,  that  he  should  look 
coldly  on  me,  pass  me  with  averted  eye,  and  seek  consolation 
from  another  ?  " 

I  could  not  sit  still  and  listen,  for  I  was  left  alone.  I  rose 
and  stole  from  the  room,  —  stole  out  into  the  dewy  night,  under 
the  heavy,  drooping  shade-boughs,  and  sat  down  wearily,  lean- 
ing my  head  against  the  hard,  rough  bark.  Never  had  I  seen 
a  more  enchanting  r;ight.  A  thin  mist  rose  from  the  bosom  of 
the  valley  and  hovered  like  a  veil  of  silvery  gauze  over  its  rich 
depth  of  veidure.  It  floated  round  the  edge  of  the  horizon, 
subduing  its  outline  of  dazzling  blue,  and  rolled  off  among  the 
hills  in  soft,  yet  darkening  convolutions.  And  high  above  me, 
serene  and  holy,  the  moon  leaned  over  a  ledge  of  slate-colored 
clouds,  whose  margin  was  plated  with  her  beams,  and  looked 
pensively  and  solemnly  on  the  pale  and  sad  young  face  uplifted 
to  her  own.  The  stilly  dews  slept  at  my  feet.  They  hung 
U'emulously  on  the  branches  over  my  head,  and  sparkled  on  the 
spring  blossoms  that  gave  forth  their  inmost  perfume  to  the 
atmosphere  of  night.  Every  thing  was  so  calm,  so  peaceful,  so 
intensely  lovely,  —  and  yet  there  was  something  deadly  and 
chilling  mingled  with  the  celestial  beauty  of  the  scene.  The  lace 


EBNEST    LINWOOD.  829 

elung  in  damp  folds  to  my  bosom.  The  hair  fell  heavy  with 
moisture  against  my  temples. 

I  heard  a  step  softly  crushing  the  grass  near  me.  I  did  not 
look  up,  for  I  thought  it  was  the  step  of  Ernest ;  but  my  pulse 
throbbed  with  a  quickened  motion. 

a  Gabriella,  my  child,  you  must  not  sit  here  in  this  chi'l 
damp  evening  air." 

It  was  Mrs.  Linwood,  who  took  me  by  the  hand  and  drew 
me  from  the  seat.  It  was  not  Ernest.  He  had  not  missed  TTIP. 
He  had  not  feared  for  me  the  chill  dews  of  night. 

"  I  do  not  feel  cold,"  I  answered,  with  a  slight  shudder. 

"  Come  in,"  she  repeated,  leading  me  to  the  house  with  gentle 
force. 

"  Not  there,"  I  said,  shrinking  from  the  open  door  of  the 
parlor,  through  which  I  could  see  Ernest,  with  his  head  leaning 
on  both  hands,  while  his  elbows  rested  on  the  back  of  Edith's 
chair.  She  was  still  singing,  and  the  notes  of  her  voice,  sweet 
as  they  were,  like  the  odor  of  the  night-flowers,  had  something 
languishing  and  oppressive.  I  hurried  by,  and  ascended  the 
stairs.  Mrs.  Linwood  followed  me  to  the  door  of  my  apartment, 
then  taking  me  by  both  hands,  she  looked  me  'full  in  the  face, 
with  a  mildly  reproachful  glance. 

"  0,  Gabriella !  if  your  spirit  sink  thus  early,  if  you  can- 
not bear  the  burden  you  have  assumed,  in  the  bright  morning 
hour  of  love,  how  will  you  be  able  to  support  it  in  the  sultry 
noon  of  life,  or  in  the  weariness  of  its  declining  day  ?  You  are 
very  young,  —  you  have  a  long  pilgrimage  before  you.  If  you 
droop  now,  where  will  be  the  strength  to  sustain  in  a  later, 
darker  hour  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  meet  it,"  I  answered,  trying  in  vain  to  repress 
the  rising  sob.  "  I  do  not  wish  a  long  life,  unless  it  be  happiei 
than  it  now  promises  to  be." 

"  What !  so  young,  and  so  hopeless !  "Where  is  the  strength 
and  vitality  of  your  love  ?  The  fervor  and  steadfastness  of 
your  faith  ?  My  child,  you  have  borne  nothing  yet,  and  you 
promised  to  hope  all  and  endure  all.  Be  strong,  be  patient,  be 
hopeful,  and  you  shall  yet  reap  your  reward." 


530  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"Alas!  my  mother,  the  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is 
weak." 

"  There  is  no  task  appointed  to  man  or  woman,"  she  answered, 
41  which  may  not  be  performed,  through  the  power  of  God  and 
the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Remember  this,  my  beloved 
daughter ;  and  remember,  too,  that  the  heart  which  bends  will 
not  break.  Good-night !  We  had  better  not  renew  this  theme. 
'  Patient  continuance  in  well-doing ; '  let  this  be  yonr  motto, 
and  if  happiness  in  this  world  be  not  your  reward,  immortality 
and  glory  in  the  next  will  be  yours." 

I  looked  after  her  as  she  gently  retreated,  and  as  the  light 
glanced  on  the  folds  of  her  silver  gray  dress,  she  seemed  to 
me  as  one  of  the  shining  ones  revealed  in  the  pilgrim's  vision. 
At  that  moment  her  esteem  and  approbation  seemed  as  precious 
to  me  as  Ernest's  love.  I  entered  my  chamber,  and  sitting 
down  quietly  in  my  beloved  recess,  repeated  over  and  over 
again  the  Christian  motto,  which  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Linwood  ut- 
tered in  parting,  —  "  Patient  continuance  in  well-doing." 

I  condemned  myself  for  the  feelings  I  had  been  indulging. 
I  had  felt  bitter  towards  Edith  for  smiling  so  sweetly  in  her 
brother's  face,  when  it  had  turned  so  coldly  from  me.  I  was 
envious  of  her  power  to  soothe  the  restless  spirit  I  had  so  un- 
consciously troubled.  As  I  thus  communed  with  my  own  heart, 
I  unbound  my  hair,  that  the  air  might  exhale  the  mist  whien 
had  gathered  in  its  folds.  I  brushed  out  the  damp  tresses,  till, 
self-mesmerized,  a  soft  haziness  stole  over  my  senses,  and 
though  I  did  not  sleep,  I  was  on  the  borders  of  the  land  of 
dreams. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

I  SUPPOSE  I  must  have  slept,  thcugh  I  was  not  conscious  of 
it,  for  I  did  not  hear  Ernest  enter  the  room,  and  yet  when  I 
looked  again,  he  was  sitting  in  the  opposite  window,  still  as  a 
statue,  looking  out  into  the  depths  of  night.  I  started  as  if 
I  had  seen  a  spirit,  for  I  believed  myself  alone,  and  I  did  not 
feel  less  lonely  now.  There  was  something  dejected  in  his  atti- 
tude, and  he  sighed  heavily  as  he  turned  and  leaned  his  fore- 
head against  the  window  sash. 

I  rose,  and  softly  approaching  him  laid  my  hand  on  hia 
shoulder. 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me,  Ernest  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  did  not  answer,  or  turn  towards  me  ;  but  I  felt  a  tremu- 
lous motion  of  his  shoulder,  and  knew  that  he  heard  me. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  displease  you,  dear  Ernest  ?  "  again  I 
asked.  "  Will  you  not  speak  to  me  and  tell  me,  at  least,  in  what 
I  have  offended  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  offended,"  he  answered,  without  looking  up  ;  "  I 
am  not  angry,  but  grieved,  wounded,  and  unhappy." 

"  And  will  you  not  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  grief?  Is  not 
sympathy  in  sorrow  the  wife's  holiest  privilege  ?  " 

"  Gabriella,  you  mock  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  rising 
and  speaking  in  a  low,  stern  voice.  "  You  know  that  you  are 
yourself  the  cause  of  my  grief,  and  your  words  are  as  hollow  as 
your  actions  are  vain.  Did  you  not  promise,  solemnly  promise 
never  to  deceive  me  again,  after  having  caused  me  such  agony 
by  the  deception  I  yet  freely  forgave  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,  Ernest,  in  what  have  I  deceived  ?     If  I  know  my- 


832  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

self,  every  word  and  action  has  been  as  clear  and  open  as  noon- 
day." 

"  Did  you  ever  tell  me  your  teacher  was  your  lover,  —  h< 
with  whom  you  were  so  intimately  associated  when  I  first  knew 
you  ?  You  suffered  me  to  believe  that  he  was  to  you  in  the 
relation  almost  of  a  father.  I  received  him  as  such  in  my  own 
home.  I  lavished  upon  him  every  hospitable  attention,  as  the 
friend  and  guide  of  your  youth,  and  now  you  suffer  me  to  hear 
from  others  that  his  romantic  love  was  the  theme  of  village 
gossip,  that  your  names  are  still  associated  by  idle  tongues." 

"  I  always  believed  before  that  unrequited  love  was  not  a 
.theme  for  vain  boasting,  that  it  was  a  secret  too  sacred  to  be 
divulged  even  to  the  dearest  and  the  nearest." 

"  But  every  one  who  has  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  you,  seems  to  have  been  the  victims  of  unrequited 
love.  The  name  of  Richard  Clyde  is  familiar  to  all  as  the 
model  of  despairing  lovers,  a'nd  even  Dr.  Harlowe  addresses 
you  in  a  strain  of  unpardonable  levity." 

"  O  Ernest,  cannot  you  spare  even  him  ?  " 

"  You  asked  me  the  cause  of  my  displeasure,  and  I  have 
told  you  the  source  of  my  grief,  otherwise  I  had  been  silent. 
There  must  be  something  wrong,  Gabriella,  or  you  would  not 
be  the  subject  of  such  remarks.  Edith,  all  lovely  as  she  is, 
passes  on  without  exciting  them.  The  most  distant  allusion  to 
a  lover  should  be  considered  an  insult  by  a  wedded  woman 
and  most  especially  in  her  husband's  presence." 

"  I  have  never  sought  admiration  or  love,"  said  I,  every  feel- 
ing of  delicacy  and  pride  rising  to  repel  an  insinuation  so 
unjust.  "  When  they  have  been  mine,  they  were  spontaneous 
gifts,  offered  nobly,  and  if  not  accepted,  at  least  declined  with 
gratitude  and  sensibility.  If  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
win  what  your  lovely  sister  might  more  justly  claim,  it  has 
been  by  the  exercise  of  no  base  allurement  or  meritriciou? 
attractions.  I  appeal  to  your  own  experience,  and  if  it  does 
not  acquit  me,  I  am  for  ever  silent." 

Coldly  and  proudly  my  eye  met  his,  as  we  stood  face  to  face 
in  the  light  of  the  midnight  moon.  I,  who  had  looked  up  to 


ERNEST     LTXWOOD.  333 

him  with  the  reverence  due  to  a  superior  being,  felt  that  I  was 
above  him  now.  He  was  the  slave  of  an  unjust  passion,  the 
dupe  of  a  distempered  fancy,  and  as  such  unworthy  of  my 
respect  and  love.  As  I  admitted  this  truth,  I  shuddered  with 
that  vague  horror  we  feel  in  dreams,  when  we  recoil  from  the 
brink  of  something,  we  know  not  what.  I  trembled  when  his 
lips  opened,  fearful  he  would  say  something  more  irrational  and 
unmanly  still. 

"  0  Ernest ! "  I  cried,  all  at  once  yielding  to  the  emotions 
that  were  bearing  me  doAvn  with  such  irresistible  power,  "you 
frighten  me,  you  fill  me  with  unspeakable  dread.  There  seems 
a  deep  abyss  yawning  between  us,  and  I  stand  upon  one  icy 
brink  and  you  on  the  other,  and  the  chasm  widens,  and  I  stretch 
out  my  arms  in  vain  to  reach  you,  and  I  call,  and  nothing  but 
a  dreary  echo  answers,  and  I  look  into  my  heart  and  do  no' 
find  you  there.  Save  me,  Ernest,  save  me,  —  my  husband, 
save  yourself  from  a  doom  so  dreadful !  " 

Excited  by  the  awful  picture  of  desolation  I  had  drawn,  I 
slid  down  upon  my  knees  and  raised  my  clasped  hands,  as  if 
pleading  for  life  beneath  the  axe  of  the  executioner.  I  must 
have  been  the  very  personification  of  despair,  with  my  hair 
wildly  sweeping  round  me,  and  hands  locked  in  agony. 

"  To  live  on,  live  on  together,  year  after  year,  cold  and  es- 
tranged, without  love,  without  hope,"  —  I  continued,  unable  to 
check  the  Avords  that  came  now  as  in  a  rushing  tide,  —  "  Oh  !  is  it 
not  dreadful,  Ernest,  even  to  think  of?  There  is  no  evil  I 
could  not  bear  while  we  loved  one  another.  If  poverty  came, 

—  welcome,  welcome.     I  could  toil  and  smile,  if  I  only  toiled 
for  you,  if  I  were  only  trusted,  only  believed.     There  is  no  sac- 
rifice I  would  not  make  to  prove  my  faith.     Do  you  demand 
my  right  hand?  —  cut  it  off;    my  right  eye? — pluck  it  out; 

—  I  wilhhold  nothing.     I  would  even  lay  my  heart  bleeding  at 
your  feet  in  attestation  of  my  truth.     But  what  can  I  do,  when 
the  idle  breath  of  others,  over  which  I  have  no  power,  shakes 
the  tottering  fabric  of  your  confidence,  and  J  am  buried  beneath 
the  ruins  ?  " 

"  You  have  never  loved  like  me,  Gabridla,  or    you  would 


834  ERNE  SI     LIN  WOOD. 

never  dream  of  the  possibility  of  its  being  extinguished,"  said 
lie,  iu  a  tone  of  indescribable  wretchedness.  "  I  may  alienate 
you  from  me,  by  the  indulgence  of  insane  passions,  by  accusa- 
tions repented  as  soon  as  uttered,  —  I  may  revile  and  persecute, 
—  but  I  can  never  cease  to  love  you." 

"  O  Ernest ! "  It  was  all  gone,  —  pride,  anger,  despair, 
were  gone.  The  first  glance  of  returning  love,  —  the  first  ac- 
knowledgment  of  uttered  wrong,  were  enough  for  me.  I  was  in 
his  arms,  next  to  his  heart,  and  the  last  hours  seemed  a  dream 
of  darkness.  I  was  happy  again  ;  but  I  trembled  even  in  the 
joy  of  reconciliation.  I  realized  on  what  a  slender  thread  my 
wedded  happiness  was  hanging,  and  knew  that  it  must  one  day 
break.  Moments  like  these  were  like  those  green  and  glowing 
spots  found  on  the  volcano's  burning  edge.  The  lava  of  passion 
might  sweep  over  them  quick  as  the  lightning's  flash,  and  beauty 
and  bloom  be  covered  with  ashes  and  desolation. 

And  so  the  cloud  passed  by,  —  and  Ernest  was,  if  possible, 
more  tender  and  devoted,  and  I  tried  to  cast  oif  the  prophetic 
eadness  that  would  at  times  steal  over  the  brightness  of  the  fu- 
ture. I  was  literally  giving  up  all  for  him.  I  no  longer  de- 
rived pleasure  from  the  society  of  Mr.  Regulus.  I  dreaded 
the  sportive  sallies  of  Dr.  Harlowe.  I  looked  forward  with 
terror  to  the  return  of  Richard  Clyde.  I  grew  nervous  and 
restless.  The  color  would  come  and  go  in  my  face,  like  the 
flashes  of  the  aurora  borealis,  and  my  heart  would  palpitate  sud- 
denly and  painfully,  as  if  some  unknown  evil  were  impending. 
Did  I  now  say,  as  I  did  a  few  months  after  my  marriage, 
that  I  preferred  the  stormy  elements  in  which  I  moved,  to 
the  usual  calm  of  domestic  life  ?  Did  I  exult,  as  the  billows 
swelled  beneath  me  and  bore  me  up  on  their  foaming  crests, 
in  the  power  of  raising  the  whirlwind  and  the  tempest  ?  No ;  I 
sighed  for  rest,  —  for  still  waters  and  tranquil  skies. 

It  is  strange,  that  a,  subject  which  has  entirely  escaped  the 
mind,  when  associations  naturally  recall  it,  will  sometimes  re- 
turn and  haunt  it,  when  nothing  seems  favorable  for  its  recep- 
tion. 

During    my    agitated    interview  with   my  unhappy  father, 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  835 

T  had  forgotten  Theresa  La  Fontaine,  and  the  boy  whose 
birthright  I  had  unconsciously  usurped.  Mr.  Brahan,  in  speak- 
ing of  St.  James  and  his  two  wives,  said  they  had  both  disap- 
peared in  a  mysterious  manner.  That  boy,  if  living,  was  my 
brother,  my  half-brother,  the  legitimate  inheritor  of  my  name, — 
a  name,  alas  !  he  might  well  blush  to  bear.  If  living,  where 
wa3  he,  and  who  was  he  ?  Was  he  the  heir  of  his  father's 
vices,  and  was  he  conscious  of  his  ignominious  career  ?  These 
questions  constantly  recurred,  now  there  was  no  oracle  near 
to  answer.  Once,  and  only  once,  I  mentioned  them  to  Mrs. 
Linwood. 

"  You  had  better  not  attempt  to  lift  the  veil  which  covers  the 
past,"  she  answered,  in  her  most  decided  manner.  "  Think  of 
the  suffering,  not  to  say  disgrace,  attached  to  the  discovery  of 
your  father,  —  and  let  this  brother  be  to  you  as  though  he  had 
never  been.  Tempt  not  Providence,  by  indulging  one  wish  on 
the  subject,  which  might  lead  to  shame  and  sorrow.  Ernest 
has  acted  magnanimously  with  regard  to  the  circumstances, 
which  must  have  been  galling  beyond  expression  to  one  of  his 
proud  and  sensitive  nature.  And  I,  Gabriella,  —  though  out  of 
delicacy  to  you,  —  I  have  forborne  any  allusion  to  the  events  of 
the  last  winter,  have  suffered  most  deeply  and  acutely  on  their 
account.  I  have  suffered  for  myself,  as  well  as  my  son.  If 
there  is  any  thing  in  this  world  to  be  prized  next  to  a  blame 
less  conscience,  it  is  an  unspotted  name.  Well  is  it  for  you, 
that  your  own  is  covered  with  one,  which  from  generation  to 
generation  has  been  pure  and  honorable.  Well  is  it  for  you, 
that  your  husband's  love  is  stronger  than  his  pride,  or  he  might 
reproach  you  for  a  father's  ignominy.  Remember  this,  when 
you  feel  that  you  have  wrongs  to  forgive.  And  as  you  value 
your  own  happiness  and  ours,  never,  my  child,  seek  to  discover 
a  brother,  whom  you  would  probably  blush  to  acknowledge, 
and  my  son  be  compelled  to  disown." 

She  spoke  with  dignity  and  emphasis,  while  the  pride  of  a 
virtuous  and  honored  ancestry,  though  subdued  by  Christian 
grace,  darkened  her  eyes  and  glowed  on  her  usually  colorless 
cheek.  I  realized  then  all  her  forbearance  and  delicacy.  I 


836  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

understood  what  a  deep  wound  her  family  pride  must  have  re- 
ceived, and  how  bitterly  she  must  have  regretted  a  union, 
which  exposed  her  son  to  contact  with  degradation  and  crime. 

u  I  would  not  have  spoken  as  I  have,  my  daughter,"  she 
added,  in  a  softened  tone,  "  but  with  your  limited  knowledge  of 
the  world,  you  cannot  understand  the  importance  attached  to 
unblemished  associations.  And  never  mention  the  subject  to 
Ernest,  if  you  would  not  revive  memories  that  had  better  slum- 
ber for  ever." 

She  immediately  resumed  he?  kind  and  gracious  manner,  but 
I  never  forgot  the  lesson  she  had  given.  My  proud  spirit 
needed  no  second  warning.  Never  had  I  felt  so  crushed,  so 
humiliated  by  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  crimes.  That 
he  was  my  father  I  had  never  dared  to  doubt.  Even  Ernest 
relinquished  the  hope  he  had  cherished,  as  time  passed  on,  and 
no  letter  from  Mr.  Brahan  threw  any  new  light  on  the  dark 
relationship ;  though  removed  from  the  vicinity  of  the  dismal 
Tombs,  the  dark,  gigantic  walls  cast  their  lengthening  shadow 
over  the  fresh  green  fields  and  blossoming  meadows,  and  dim- 
med the  glory  of  the  landscape. 

The  shadow  of  the  Tombs  met  the  shadow  in  my  heart,  and 
together  they  produced  a  chill  atmosphere.  I  sighed  for  that 
perfect  love  which  casteth  out  fear ;  that  free,  joyous  inter- 
course of  thought  and  feeling,  born  of  undoubting  confidence. 

Could  I  live  over  again  the  first  year  of  my  wedded  life,  with 
the  experience  that  now  enlightens  me,  I  would  pursue  a  very 
different  course  of  action.  A  passion  so  wild  and  strong  as 
that  which  darkened  my  domestic  happiness,  should  be  resisted 
with  the  energy  of  reason,  instead  of  being  indulged  with  the 
weakness  of  fear.  Every  sacrifice  made  to  appease  its  violence 
only  paved  the  way  for  a  greater.  Every  act  of  my  life  had 
reference  to  this  one  master-passion.  I  scarcely  ever  spoke 
without  watching  the  countenance  of  Ernest  to  see  the  effect 
of  my  words.  If  it  was  overcast  or  saddened,  I  feared  I  had 
given  utterance  to  an  improper  sentiment,  and  then  I  blushed 
in  silence.  Very  unfortunate  was  it  for  him,  that  I  thus  fed 
and  strengthened  the  serpent  that  should  have  been  strangled 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  837 

in  the  cradle  of  our  love  ;  and  his  mother  unconsciously  did  the 
same.  She  believed  him  afflicted  by  a  hereditary  malady 
which  should  inspire  pity,  and  be  treated  with  gentleness  rather 
than  resistance.  Edith,  too,  —  if  a  cloud  passed  over  his  brow, 
she  exerted  every  winning  and  endearing  sisterly  art  to  chase 
the  gloom. 

The  history  of  man  for  six  thousand  years  shows,  that  in  the 
exercise  of  unlimited  power  he  becomes  a  despot.  Kingly 
annals  confirm  the  truth  of  this,  and  domestic  records  proclaim 
it  with  a  thundering  tongue.  There  must  be  a  restraining  in- 
fluence on  human  passion,  or  its  turbulent  waves  swell  higher 
and  higher,  till  they  sweep  over  the  landmarks  of  reason,  honor 
and  love.  The  mighty  hand  of  God  is  alone  powerful  enough 
to  curb  the  raging  billows.  He  alone  can  say,  "  peace,  be  still." 
But  he  has  ministers  on  earth  appointed  to  do  his  pleasure,  and 
if  they  fulfil  their  task  He  may  not  be  compelled  to  reveal  him- 
self in  flaming  fire  as  the  God  of  retributive  justice. 

I  know  that  Ernest  loved  me,  with  all  his  heart,  soul,  and 
strength ;  but  mingled  with  this  deep,  strong  love,  there  was 
the  alloy  of  selfishness,  —  the  iron  of  a  despotic  will.  There 
was  the  jealousy  of  power,  as  well  as  the  jealousy  of  love,  un- 
consciously exercised  and  acquiring  by  indulgence  a  growing 
strength. 

My  happiness  Avas  the  first  desire  of  his  heart,  the  first  aim 
of  his  life ;  but  I  must  be  made  happy  in  his  way,  and  by  his 
means.  His  hand,  fair,  soft,  and  delicate  -s  a  woman's,  —  that 
hand,  with  its  gentle,  warm,  heai't-thrilling  pressure,  was  never- 
theless the  hand  of  Procrustes  ;  and  though  he  covered  the  iron 
bed  with  the  flowers  of  love,  the  spirit  sometimes  writhed  under 
the  coercion  it  endured. 

"  You  are  not  well,"  said  Dr.  Harlowe,  as  we  met  him  during 
an  evening  walk.  "  I  do  not  like  that  fluctuating  color,  or  that 
quick,  irregular  breathing." 

Ernest  started  as  if  he  had  heard  my  death-warrant ;  and, 
taking  my  hand,  he  began  to  count  my  quickly  throbbing  pulse. 

"  That  will  never  do,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling.  "  Her  pulse 
will  beat  three  times  as  fast  under  your  fingers  as  mine,  if  you 


838  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

have  been  married  nearly  a  year.  It  is  not  a  good  pulse.  Yon 
had  better  take  care  of  her." 

"  He  takes  a  great  deal  too  much  care  of  me,  doctor,"  I  cried. 
"  Do  not  make  him  think  I  am  an  invalid,  or  he  will  make  a 
complete  hothouse  plant  of  me." 

"  Who  ever  saw  an  invalid  with  such  a  color  as  that  ?  "  asked 
Ernest. 

"Too  bright  —  too  mutable,"  answered  the  doctor,  shaking 
his  head.  "  She  is  right.  You  keep  her  too  close.  Let  her 
run  wild,  like  any  other  country  girl.  Let  her  rise  early  and 
go  out  into  the  barnyard,  see  the  cows  milked,  inhale  their 
odorous  breathings,  wander  in  the  fields  among  the  new-mown 
hay,  let  her  rake  it  into  mounds  and  throw  herself  on  the  fra- 
grant heaps,  as  I  have  seen  her  do  when  a  little  school-girl. 
Let  her  do  just  as  she  pleases,  go  where  she  pleases,  stay  as 
long  as  she  pleases,  in  the  open  air  and  free  sunshine ;  and 
mark  my  words,  she  will  wear  on  her  cheeks  the  steady  bloom 
of  the  milkmaid,  instead  of  the  flitting  rosiness  of  the  sunset 
cloud." 

"  I  am  not  conscious  of  imposing  so  much  restraint  on  her 
actions  as  your  words  imply,"  said  Ernest,  a  flush  of  displeasure 
passing  over  his  pale  and  anxious  countenance. 

"  Make  her  take  a  ride  on  horseback  every  morning  and 
evening,"  continued  Dr.  Harlowe,  with  perfect  coolness,  without 
taking  any  notice  of  the  interruption.  "  Best  exercise  in  the 
world.  Fine  rides  for  equestrians  through  the  green  woods 
around  here.  If  that  does  not  set  her  right,  carry  her  to  the 
roaring  Falls  of  Niagara,  or  the  snowy  hills  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, or  the  Catskill  Mountains,  or  the  Blue  Ridge.  I  cannot 
let  the  flower  of  the  village  droop  and  fade." 

As  he  finished  the  sentence,  the  merry  tones  of  his  voice  be- 
came grave  and  subdued.  He  spoke  as  one  having  the  author- 
ity of  science  and  experience,  as  well  as  the  privilege  of  affec- 
tion. I  looked  down  to  hide  the  moisture  that  glistened  in  my 
eyes. 

"Hrw  would  you  like  to  travel  as  the  doctor  has  suggested, 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  339 

Gabriella?"   asked  Ernest,  who  seemed  much  moved  by  the 
doctor's  remarks.     "  You  know  I  would  go  to  "  — 

"  Nova  Zembla,  if  she  wished  it,"  interrupted  the  doctor,  "  but 
that  is  too  far  and  too  cold.  Begin  with  a  shorter  journey.  I 
wish  I  could  accompany  you,  but  I  cannot  plead  as  an  excuse 
my  wife's  delicacy  of  constitution.  Her  health  is  as  uniform 
as  her  temper ;  and  even  if  life  and  death  were  at  stake,  she 
would  not  leave  her  housekeeping  in  other  hands.  Neither 
would  she  close  her  doors  and  turn  her  locks,  lest  moth  and  rust 
should  corrupt,  and  thieves  break  in  and  steal.  But  pardon  me. 
I  have  given  you  no  opportunity  to  answer  your  husband's  ques 
tion." 

u  I  shall  only  feel  too  happy  to  avail  myself  of  his  unneces- 
sary fears  with  regard  to  my  health,"  I  answered.  "  It  will  be 
a  charming  way  of  passing  the  summer,  if  Mrs.  Linwood  am7 
Edith  will  consent." 

Dr.  Harlowe  accompanied  us  home,  and  nothing  was  talked 
of  but  the   intended  journey.     The    solicitude  of  Ernest  \*a 
painfully   roused,   and   he  seemed  ready  to  move  heaven  ai< 
earth  to  facilitate  our  departure. 

"I  am  sorry  to  close  Grandison  Place  in  the  summer  season/ 
said  Mrs.  Linwood  ;  "it  looks  so  inhospitable.  Besides,  I  hav 
many  friends  who  anticipate  passing  the  sultry  season  here." 

"  Let  them  travel  with  you,  if  they  wish,"  said  the  docto • 
bluntly.  "That  is  no  reason  why  you  should  stay  at  home." 

"  Poor  Madge ! "  cried  Edith,  who  was  delighted  with  th< 
arrangement  the  docter  had  suggested.  "  She  will  be  so  disap 
pointed." 

"  Let  her  come,"  said  Dr.  Harlowe.  "  I  will  take  charge  of 
the  wild-cat,  and  if  I  find  her  too  mighty  for  me,  I  will  get  Mr 
Regulus  to  assist  me  in  keeping  her  in  order.  Let  her  come, 
by  all  means." 

"  Supposing  we  write  and  ask  her  to  accompany  us,"  said 
Mrs.  Linwood.  "  Her  exuberant  spirits  will  be  subdued  by  the 
exercise  of  travelling,  and  she  may  prove  a  most  exhilarating 
companion." 

"  What,  four   ladies  to   one  gentleman ! "  exclaimed  Edith* 
22 


840  EENE8T     L1NWOOB. 

"Poor  Ernest!  when  lie  will  have  thoughts  and  eyes  but  for 
one ! " 

"  I  would  sooner  travel  with  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  or  the 
bciling  springs  of  Geyser,"  cried  Ernest,  with  an  instinctive 
shudder.  "  We  should  have  to  take  a  carpenter,  a  glazier,  an 
upholsterer,  and  a  seamstress,  to  repair  the  ruins  she  would 
strew  in  our  path." 

''  If  Richard  Clyde  were  about  to  return  a  little  earlier  in  the 
season,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  Edith,  "  he  would  be  a  de- 
lightful acquisition  to  your  party.  lie  would  divide  with  your 
brother  the  heavy  responsibility  of  being  the  guardian  of  so 
many  household  treasures." 

"  Let  us  start  as  early  as  possible,"  exclaimed  Ernest.  The 
name  of  Richard  Clyde  was  to  his  impatient,  jealous  spirit,  as  is 
the  rowel  to  the  fiery  steed. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  all  our  beautiful  flowers,  and  our 
rich,  ripening  fruit  ?"  I  asked.  "  Must  they  waste  their  sweet- 
ness and  value  on  the  unappreciating  air  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  must  make  Dr.  Harlowe  and  Mr.  Regulus  the 
guardians  and  participators  of  both,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood. 

"  Give  him  the  flowers,  and  leave  the  fruit  to  me,"  cried  Dr. 
Harlowe,  emphatically. 

"  That  the  sick,  the  poor,  and  the  afflicted  may  be  benefited 
by  the  act,"  replied  Mrs.  Linwood.  "  Let  it  be  so,  Doctor,  — 
and  may  many  a  blessing  which  has  once  been  mine,  reward 
your  just  and  generous  distribution  of  the  abounding  riches 
of  Grandison  Place." 

I  left  one  sacred  charge  with  the  preceptor  of  my  child- 
hood. 

"  Let  not  the  flowers  and  shrubbery  around  my  mother's 
grave,  and  the  grave  of  Peggy,  wilt  and  die  for  want  of  care." 

"  They  shall  not  They  shall  be  tenderly  and  carefully 
nurtured." 

"  And  if  Margaret  comes  during  our  absence,  be  kind  and 
attentive  to  her,  for  my  sake,  Mr.  Regulus." 

"  I  vi  ill !  I  will !  and  for  her  own  too.  The  wild  girl  has  a 
heart,  I  believe  she  has  ;  a  good  and  honest  heart " 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  341 

"You  discovered  it  during  your  homeward  journey  from 
New  York.  I  thought  you  would,"  said  I,  pleased  to  see  a 
flush  light  up  the  student's  olive  cheek.  I  thought  of  the  sen- 
sible Benedict  and  the  wild  Beatrice,  and  the  drama  of  other 
lives  passed  before  the  eye  of  imagination. 

Gloomy  must  the  walls  of  Grandison  Place  appear  during  the 
absence  of  its  inmates,  —  that  city  set  upon  a  hill  that  could 
not  be  hid,  whose  illuminated  windows  glittered  on  the  vale  be- 
low with  beacon  splendor,  and  discoursed  of  genial  hospitality 
and  kindly  charity  to  the  surrounding  shadows.  Sadly  must 
the  evening  gale  sigh  through  the  noble  oaks,  whose  branches 
met  over  the  winding  avenue,  and  lonely  the  elm-tree  wave  its 
hundred  arms  above  the  unoccupied  seat,  —  that  seat,  beneath 
whose  breezy  shade  I  had  first  beheld  the  pale,  impassioned,  and 
haunting  face  of  Ernest  Linwood. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

IT  is  not  my  intention  to  describe  our  journey ;  and  I  fear  it  will 
indeed  be  an  act  of  supererogation  to  attempt  to  give  an  idea  of 
those  majestic  Falls,  whose  grandeur  and  whose  glory  have  so 
long  been  the  theme  of  the  painter's  pencil  and  the  poet's  lyre. 
Never  shall  I  forget  the  moment  when  my  spirit  plunged  into 
the  roar  and  the  foam,  the  thunior^  and  the  rainbows  of  Ni- 
agara. I  paused  involuntarily  a  hundred  paces  from  the  brink 
of  the  cataract.  I  was  about  to  realize  one  of  the  magnifi- 
cent dreams  of  my  youthful  imagination.  I  hesitated  and 
trembled.  I  felt  something  of  the  trepidation,  the  blissful  tre- 
mor that  agitated  my  whole  being  when  Ernest  asked  me  into 
the  moonlight  garden  at  Cambridge,  and  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  tell  me  that  he  loved  me.  The  emotions  I  was  about  to  ex- 
perience would  never  come  again,  and  I  knew  when  once  past 
could  never  be  anticipated  as  now,  with  indescribable  awe.  I 
felt  something  as  Moses  did  when  he  stood  in  the  hollow  of 
the  rock,  as  the  glory  of  the  Lord  was  about  to  pass  by.  And 
surely  no  grander  exhibition  of  God's  glory  ever  burst  on  mor- 
tal eye,  than  this  mighty  volume  of  water,  rushing,  roaring, 
plunging,  boiling,  foaming,  tossing  its  foam  like  snow  into  the 
face  of  heaven,  throwing  up  rainbow  after  rainbow  from  un- 
fathomable abysses,  then  sinking  gradually  into  a  sluggish  calm, 
as  if  exhausted  by  the  stupendous  efforts  it  had  made. 

Clinging  to  the  arm  of  Ernest,  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  till 
all  personal  fear  was  absorbed  in  a  sense  of  overpowering  mag- 
nificence. I  was  a  part  of  that  glorious  cataract;  I  partici- 
pated in  the  mighty  struggle ;  I  panted  with  the  throes  of  tha 
pure,  dark,  tremendous  element,  vassal  at  once  and  conqueror 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  343 

of  man ;  triumphed  in  the  gorgeous  arcs-en  del  that  rested 
like  angels  of  the  Lord  above  the  mist  and  the  foam  and  the 
thunders  of  watery  strife,  and  reposed  languidly  with  the  sub- 
siding waves  that  slept  like  weary  warriors  after  the  din  and 
strife  of  battle,  the  frown  of  contention  lingering  on  their  brows, 
and  the  smile  of  disdain  still  curling  their  lips. 

Oh,  how  poor,  how  weak  seemed  the  conflict  of  human  pas- 
sion in  the  presence  of  this  sublime,  this  wondrous  spectacle !  I 
could  not  speak,  —  I  could  scarcely  breathe,  —  I  was  borne 
down,  overpowered,  almost  annihilated.  My  knees  bent,  my 
hands  involuntarily  clasped  themselves  over  the  arm  of  Ernest, 
and  in  this  attitude  of  intense  adoration  I  looked  up  and  whis- 
pered, "  God,  —  eternity." 

"  Enthusiast  ! "  exclaimed  he  ;  but  his  countenance  was 
luminous  with  the  light  that  glowed  on  mine.  He  put  his  arm 
around  me,  but  did  not  attempt  to  raise  me.  Edith  and  her 
mother  were  near,  in  company  with  a  friend  who  had  been  our 
fellow-traveller  from  New  England,  and  who  had  extended 
his  journey  beyond  its  prescribed  limits  for  the  sake  of  being 
our  companion.  I  looked  towards  Edith  with  tremulous  in- 
terest. As  she  stood  leaning  on  her  crutches,  her  garments 
fluttering  in  the  breeze,  I  almost  expected  to  see  her  borne  from 
us  like  down  upon  the  wind,  and  floating  on  the  bosom  of  that 
mighty  current. 

I  said  I  did  not  mean  to  attempt  a  description  of  scenes 
•which  have  baffled  the  genius  and  eloquence  of  man. 

"  Now  I  am  content  to  die  ! "  said  an  ancient  traveller,  when 
the  colossal  shadow  of  the  Egyptian  pyramids  first  fell  on  his 
weary  frame.  But  what  are  those  huge,  unmoving  monuments 
of  man's  ambition,  compared  to  this  grandest  of  creation's  mys- 
teries, whose  deep  and  thundering  voice  is  repeating,  day  after 
day  and  night  after  night,  —  "  forever  and  ever,"  and  whose 
majestic  motion,  rushing  onward,  plunging  downward,  never 
pausing,  never  resting,  is  emblematic  of  the  sublime  march  of 
Deity,  from  everlasting  to  everlasting,  —  from  eternity  to  eter- 
nity? 

Shall  I  ever  forget  the  moment  when  I  stood  on  Termination 


844  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

Rock,  beyond  which  no  mortal  foot  has  ever  penetrated  ?  I  stood 
in  a  shroud  of  gray  mist,  wrapping  me  on  every  side,  —  above, 
below,  around.  I  shuddered,  as  if  the  hollow,  reverberating 
murmurs  that  filled  my  ears  were  the  knell  of  the  departed  sun. 
That  cold,  gray  mist  ;  it  penetrated  the  depths  of  my  spirit ;  it 
drenched,  drowned  it,  filled  it  with  vague,  ghost-like  images  of 
dread  and  horror.  I  cast  one  glance  behind,  and  saw  a  gleam 
of  heaven's  sunny  blue,  one  bright  dazzling  gleam  flashing  be- 
tween the  rugged  rock  and  the  rushing  waters.  It  was  as  if 
the  veil  of  the  temple  of  nature  were  rent,  and  the  glory  of 
God  shone  through  the  fissure. 

"  Let  us  return,"  said  I  to  Ernest.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  had  passed 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  Is  it  not  sacrilegious 
to  penetrate  so  deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  nature  ?  " 

"  0  Gabriella  ! "  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  flashing  through  the 
shrouding  mist  like  burning  stars,  "  how  I  wish  you  felt  with 
me !  Were  it  possible  to  build  a  home  on  this  shelving  rock,  I 
would  willingly  dwell  here  forever,  surrounded  by  this  veiling 
mist.  W^ith  you  thus  clasped  in  my  arms,  I  could  be  happy,  in 
darkness  and  clouds,  in  solitude  and  dreariness,  anywhere,  every 
where,  —  with  the  conviction  that  you  loved  me,  and  that  you 
looked  r*).r  happiness  alone  to  me." 

"  Ac  this  moment,"  I  answered,  drawing  more  closely  to  him, 
u  I  few  as  if  I  would  rather  stay  here  and  die,  than  return  to  the 
world  &od  miiigle  in  its  jarring  elements.  I  would  far  rather, 
Ernest,  make  my  winding-sheet  of  those  cold,  unfathomable 
waters,  than  live  to  feel  again  the  anguish  of  being  doubted  by 
you." 

"  That  is  all  post,  my  Gabriella,  —  all  past.  My  nature  is  re- 
newed and  puiritied.  I  feel  within  me  new-born  strength  and 
power  of  resistance.  By  the  God  of  yon  roaring  cataract  — " 

"  No,  —  no,  Ernest,  do  not  promise,  —  I  dare  not  hear  you 
»re  are  so  weak,  and  temptations  are  so  strong." 

"  Do  you  distrust  yourself,  or  me  ?  " 

"  Both,  Ernest.  I  never,  never  felt  how  poor  and  vain  and 
frail  we  are,  till  I  stood,  as  now,  in  the  presence  of  the  powei 
of  the  Almighty." 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 


845 


His  countenance  changed  instantaneously.  "  To  what  temp- 
tations do  you  allude  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  can  imagine  none  that 
could  shake  my  fidelity  to  you.  My  constancy  is  as  firm  as  thia 
rock.  Those  rushing  waves  could  not  move  it.  Why  do  you 
check  a  vow  which  I  dare  to  make  in  the  very  face  of  Omnipo- 
tence ?  " 

"  I  doubt  not  your  faith  or  constancy,  most  beloved  Ernest ; 
I  doubt  not  my  own.  You  know  what  I  do  fear,  —  misconstruc- 
tion and  suspicion.  But  let  us  not  speak,  let  us  not  think  of 
the  past.  Let  us  look  forward  to  the  future,  with  true  and 
earnest  spirits,  praying  God  to  help  us  in  weakness  and  error. 
Only  think,  Ernest,  we  have  that  within  us  more  mighty  than 
that  descending  flood.  These  souls  of  ours  will  still  live  in  im- 
mortal youth,  when  that  whelming  tide  ceases  to  roll,  when  the 
firmament  shrivels  like  a  burning  scroll.  I  never  realized  it  so 
fully,  so  grandly,  as  now.  I  shall  carry  from  this  rock  something 
I  did  not  bring.  I  have  received  a  baptism  standing  here,  purer 
than  fire,  gentle  as  dew,  yet  deep  and  pervading  as  ocean.  I 
cannot  describe  what  I  mean,  but  I  feel  it.  Before  I  came,  it 
seemed  as  if  a  great  wall  of  adamant  rose  between  me  and 
heaven  ;  now  there  is  nothing  but  this  veil  of  mist." 

As  we  turned  to  leave  this  region  of  blinding  spray  and  mys- 
terious shadows,  Ernest  repeated,  in  his  most  melodious  accents, 
&  passage  from  Schiller's  magnificent  poem  of  the  diver. 

"  And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars, 

As  when  fire  is  with  water  commixed  and  contending ; 
And  the  spray  of  its  wrath  to  the  welkin  up&oars, 
And  flood  upon  flood  hurries  on,  never  ending. 
And  it  never  will  rest,  nor  from  travail  be  free, 
Like  a  sea,  that  is  laboring  the  birth  of  a  sea." 

Never  did  I  experience  a  more  exultant  emotion  than  when 
we  emerged  into  the  clear  air  and  glorious  sunshine,  —  when  I 
felt  the  soft,  rich,  green  grass  beneath,  and  the  blue  illimitable 
heavens  smiling  above.  I  had  come  out  of  darkness  into  mar- 
vellous light.  I  was  drenched  with  light  as  I  had  previously 
been  by  the  cold,  gray  mist.  I  remembered  another  verse  of 
the  immortal  poem  I  had  learned  from  the  lips  of  Ernest :  — 


846  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

"  Happy  they,  whom  the  rose-hues  of  daylight  rejoice, 

The  air  and  the  sky  that  to  mortals  are  given ; 
May  the  horror  below  never  more  find  a  voice, 

Nor  man  stretch  too  far  the  wide  mercy  of  heaves. 
Never  more,  never  more  may  he  lift  from  the  sigfc* 
The  veil  which  is  woven  with  terror  and  night." 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

AMID  the  rainbows  of  the  cataract,  Edith's  heart  caught  the 
first  glowing  tinge  of  romance. 

We  were  wandering  along  the  path  that  zones  the  beautiful 
island,  whose  name,  unpoetic  as  it  is,  recalls  one  of  the  brilliant 
constellations  of  the  zodiac ;  and  Edith  had  seated  herself  on  a 
rustic  bench,  under  the  massy  dome  of  a  spreading  beech,  and, 
taking  off  her  bonnet,  suffered  her  hair  to  float  according  to  its 
own  wild  will  on  the  rising  breeze. 

She  did  not  observe  a  young  man  at  a  little  distance,  leaning 
back  against  an  aged  birch,  on  whose  silvery  bark  the  dark  out- 
lines of  his  figure  were  finely  daguerreotyped.  He  was  the 
beau  ideal  of  an  artist,  with  his  long  brown  hair  carelessly 
pushed  back  from  his  white  temples,  his  portfolio  in  his  left 
hand,  his  pencil  in  his  right,  and  his  dark,  restlevSs  eyes  glancing 
round  him  with  the  fervor  of  enthusiasm,  while  they  beamed 
with  the  inspiration  of  genius.  He  was  evidently  sketching  the 
scene,  which  with  bold,  rapid  lines  he  was  transferring  to  the 
paper.  All  at  once  his  gaze  was  fixed  on  Edith,  and  he  seemed 
spellbound.  I  did  not  wonder,  —  for  a  lovelier,  more  ethereal 
object  never  arrested  the  glance  of  admiration.  Again  his 
pencil  moved,  and  I  knew  he  was  attempting  to  delineate  her 
features.  I  was  fearful  lest  she  should  move  and  dissolve  the 
charm  ;  but  she  sat  as  still  as  the  tree,  whose  gray  trunk  formed 
an  artistic  background  to  her  slight  figure. 

As  soon  as  Ernest  perceived  the  occupation  of  the  young 
artist,  he  made  a  motion  towards  Edith,  but  I  laid  my  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  Do  not,"  I  said ;  «  she  will  make  such  a  beautiful  picture." 
*  (347) 


848  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

"  I  do  not  like  that  a  stranger  should  take  so  great  a  liberty," 
he  replied,  in  an  accent  of  displeasure. 

"  Forgive  the  artist,"  I  pleaded,  "  for  the  sake  of  the  temp- 
tation." 

The  young  man,  perceiving  that  he  was  observed,  blushed 
with  the  most  ingenuous  modesty,  took  up  his  hat  that  was  lying 
on  the  grass,  put  his  paper  and  pencil  in  his  portfolio,  and 
walked  away  into  the  wilderness  of  stately  and  majestic  trees, 
that  rose  dome  within  dome,  pillar  within  pillar,  like  a  grand 
cathedral.  We  followed  slowly  in  the  beaten  path,  through  the 
dark  green  maples,  the  bright-leaved  luxuriant  beech  trees,  and 
the  quivering  aspens,  whose  trembling  leaves  seem  instinct  with 
human  sensibility.  And  all  the  time  we  wandered  through  the 
magnificent  aisles  of  the  island,  the  deep  roar  of  the  cataract, 
like  the  symphony  of  a  great  organ,  rolled  solemnly  through 
the  leafy  solitude,  and  mingled  with  the  rustling  of  the  forest 
boughs. 

In  the  evening  the  young  artist  sought  an  introduction  to  our 
party.  His  name  was  Julian,  and  had  the  advantage  of  roman- 
tic association.  I  was  glad  that  Ernest  gave  him  a  cordial  re- 
ception, for  I  was  extremely  prepossessed  in  his  favor.  Even 
the  wild  idea  that  he  might  be  my  unknown  brother,  had  entered 
my  mind.  I  remembered  Mrs.  Linwood's  advice  too  well  to  ex- 
press it.  I  even  tried  to  banish  it,  as  absurd  and  irrational ; 
but  it  would  cling  to  me,  —  and  gave  an  interest  to  the  young 
stranger  which,  though  I  dared  not  manifest,  I  could  not  help 
feeling.  Fortunately  his  undisguised  admiration  of  Edith  was 
a  safeguard  to  me.  He  was  too  artless  to  conceal  it,  yet  too 
modest  to  express  it.  It  was  evinced  by  the  mute  eloquence  of 
eyes  that  gazed  upon  her,  as  on  a  celestial  being ;  and  the  lis 
tening  ear,  that  seemed  to  drink  in  the  lowest  sound  of  hei 
sweet,  low  voice.  He  was  asked  to  exhibit  his  sketches,  which 
were  pronounced  bold,  splendid,  and  masterly. 

Edith  was  leaning  on  her  brother's  shoulder,  when  she  re- 
cognized her  own  likeness,  most  faithfully  and  gracefully  ex- 
ecuted. She  started,  blushed,  and  looked  towards  young  Julian, 
whose  expressive  eyes  were  riveted  on  her  face,  as  if  deprecat- 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  849 

ing  her  displeasure.  There  were  no  traces  of  it  on  her  lovely 
countenance  ;  even  a  smile  played  on  her  lips,  at  the  faint  reflec- 
tion of  her  own  loveliness. 

And  thus  commenced  an  acquaintance,  or  I  might  say  an 
attachment,  as  sudden  and  romantic  as  is  ever  described  in  the 
pages  of  the  novelist.  As  soon  as  the  diffidence  that  veiled 
his  first  introduction  wore  away,  he  called  forth  his  peculiar 
powers  of  pleasing,  and  Edith  was  not  insensible  to  their  fas- 
cination. Since  her  brother's  marriage,  she  had  felt  a  vacuum 
in  her  heart,  which  often  involved  her  in  a  soft  cloud  of  pen- 
siveness.  She  was  unthroned,  and  like  an  uncrowned  queen 
she  sighed  over  the  remembrance  of  her  former  royalty.  It 
was  not  strange  that  the  devotion  of  Julian,  the  enthusiasm  of 
his  character,  the  fervor  of  his  language,  the  ardor,  the  grace 
of  his  manner,  should  have  captivated  her  imagination  and 
touched  her  heart.  I  never  saw  any  one  so  changed  in  so 
short  a  time.  The  contrast  was  almost  as  great,  to  her  former 
self,  as  between  a  placid  silver  lake,  and  the  foam  of  the  torrent 
sparkling  and  flashing  with  rainbows.  Her  countenance  had 
lost  its  air  of  divine  repose,  and  varied  with  every  emotion  of 
her  soul.  She  was  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful,  and  I 
loved  her  far  more  than  I  had  ever  done  before.  There  was 
something  unnatural  in  her  exclusive,  jealous  love  of  her 
brother,  but  now  she  acknowledged  the  supremacy  of  the  great 
law  of  woman's  destiny.  Like  a  flower,  suddenly  shaken  by  a 
southern  gale,  and  giving  out  the  most  delicious  perfumes  un- 
known before,  her  heart  fluttered  and  expanded  and  yielded 
both  its  hidden  sweetnesses. 

"  We  must  not  encourage  him,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood  to  her 
son.  "  We  do  not  know  who  he  is  ;  we  do  not  know  his  family 
or  his  lineage  ;  we  must  withdraw  Edith  from  the  influence  of 
Ms  fascinations." 

I  did  not  blame  her,  but  I  felt  the  sting  to  my  heart's  core. 
She  saw  the  wound  she  had  unconsciously  made,  and  hastened 
to  apply  a  balm. 

"  The  husband  either  exalts,  or  lowers,  a  wife  to  the  position 
he  occupies,"  said  she,  looking  kindly  at  me.  "  She  loses  her 


850  ERNEST     LIRWOOD. 

own  identity  in  his.  Poverty  would  present  no  obstacle,  for  sho 
has  wealth  sufficient  to  be  disinterested,  —  but  my  daughter 
must  take  a  stainless  name,  if  she  relinquish  her  own.  But 
•why  do  I  speak  thus  ?  My  poor,  crippled  child !  She  has  dis- 
owned the  thought  of  marriage.  She  has  chosen  voluntarily  an 
unwedded  lot.  She  does  not,  cannot,  will  not  think  with  any 
peculiar  interest  of  tin's  young  stranger.  No,  no,  —  my  Edith  is 
set  apart  by  her  misfortunes,  as  some  enshrined  and  holy  being, 
whom  man  must  vainly  love." 

I  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Linwood  so  much  agitated.  Her  eyes 
glistened,  her  voice  faltered  with  emotion.  Ernest,  too,  seemed 
greatly  troubled.  They  had  both  been  accustomed  to  look  upon 
Edith  as  consecrated  to  a  vestal  life ;  and  as  she  had  hitherto 
turned  coldly  and  decidedly  from  the  addresses  of  men,  they  be- 
lieved her  inaccessible  to  the  vows  of  love  and  the  bonds  of 
wedlock.  The  young  Julian  was  a  poet  as  well  as  an  artist ;  his 
pictures  were  considered  masterpieces  of  genius  in  the  painting 
galleries  of  the  cities  ;  he  was,  as  report  said,  and  as  he  himself 
modestly  but  decidedly  affirmed,  by  birth  and  education  a  gen- 
tleman ;  he  had  the  prestige  of  a  rising  fame,  —  but  he  was  a 
etranger.  I  remembered  my  mother's  history,  and  the  youth  of 
St.  James  seemed  renewed  in  this  interesting  young  man.  I  trem- 
bled for  the  future  happiness  of  Edith,  who,  whatever  might  be 
her  decision  with  regard  to  marriage,  now  unmistakably  and 
romantically  loved.  Again  I  asked  myself,  "might  not  this 
young  man  be  the  son  of  the  unfortunate  Theresa,  who  under 
an  assumed  name  was  concealing  the  unhappy  circumstances  of 
his  birth  ?  " 

"  Let  us  leave  this  place,"  said  Ernest,  "  and  put  a  stop  at 
once  to  the  danger  we  dread.  Are  you  willing,  Gabriella,  to 
quit  these  sublime  Falls  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  shall  carry  them  with  me,"  I  answered,  laughingly.  "  They 
are  henceforth  a  part  of  my  own  being." 

"  They  will  prove  rather  an  inconvenient  accompaniment," 
replied  he  ;  "  and  if  we  turn  our  face  on  our  return  to  the  White 
Mountains,  will  you  bring  them  back  also  ?  " 

"  Certainly.    Take  me  the  whole  world  over,  and  every  thing 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  851 

of  beauty  and  sublimity  will  cling  to  my  soul  inseparably  and 
forever." 

"  Will  you  ask  Edith,  if  she  will  be  ready  ?  " 

She  was  in  the  room  which  she  occupied  with  her  mother, 
and  there  I  sought  her.  She  was  reading  what  seemed  to  be  a 
letter ;  but  as  I  approached  her  I  saw  that  it  was  poetry,  and 
from  her  bright  blushes,  I  imagined  it  an  effusion  of  young 
Julian's.  She  did  not  conceal  it,  but  looked  up  with  such  a  ra- 
diant expression  of  joy  beaming  through  a  shade  of  bashfulness, 
I  shrunk  from  the  task  imposed  upon  me. 

"  Dear  Edith,"  said  I,  laying  my  hand  on  her  beautiful  hair, 
"your  brother  wishes  to  leave  here  to-morrow.  Will  you  be 
ready?" 

She  started,  trembled,  then  turned  aside  her  face,  but  I  could 
see  the  starting  tear  and  the  deepened  blush. 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  she  answered,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"  It  is  far  better  that  we  should  go,  —  I  know  it  is,  —  but  it 
would  have  been  better  still,  had  we  never  come." 

"  And  why,  my  darling  sister  ?  You  have  seemed  very 
happy." 

"  Too  happy,  Gabriella.  All  future  life  must  pay  the  penalty 
due  to  a  brief  infatuation.  I  have  discovered  and  betrayed  the 
weakness,  the  madness  of  my  heart.  I  know  too  well  why 
Ernest  has  hastened  our  departure." 

"  Dearest  Edith,"  said  I,  sitting  down  by  her  and  taking  her 
hand  in  both  mine,  "  do  not  reproach  yourself  for  a  sensibility 
so  natural,  so  innocent,  nay  more,  so  noble.  Do  not,  froiu  mis- 
taken delicacy,  sacrifice  your  own  happiness,  and  that  of  another 
which  is,  I  firmly  believe,  forever  intertwined  with  it.  Confide 
in  your  mother,  —  confide  in  your  brother,  who  think  you  have 
made  a  solemn  resolution  to  live  a  single  life.  They  do  not 
know  this  young  man  ;  but  give  them  an  opportunity  of  knowing 
him.  Cast  him  not  off,  if  you  love  him  ;  for  I  would  almost 
stills e  my  life  upon  his  integrity  and  honor." 

*'  Blessings,  Gabriella,  for  this  generous  confidence ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, throwing  her  arms  round  me,  with  all  the  impulsive- 
ness of  <  hildhood ;  "  but  it  is  all  in  vain.  Do  you  think  I 


852  BRXEST    LIN  WOOD. 

would  take  advantage  of  Julian's  nncalculating  love,  and  entail 
upon  him  for  life  the  suppoi't  and  guardianship  of  this  frail, 
helpless  form  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  hang  a  dead,  dull  weight 
on  the  wings  of  his  young  ambition  ?  Oh,  no !  You  do  not 
know  me,  Gaoriella." 

"  I  know  you  have  very  wrong  views  of  yourself,"  I  answered  ; 
"  and  I  fear  you  will  do  great  wrong  to  others,  if  you  do  not 
change  them.  You  are  not  helpless.  No  bird  of  the  wild- 
wood  wings  their  way  more  fearlessly  and  lightly  than  yourself 
You  are  not  frail  now.  Health  glows  on  your  cheek  and  beams 
in  your  eye.  You  cling  to  a  resolution  conceived  in  early 
youth,  before  you  recovered  from  the  effects  of  a  painful 
malady.  A  dull  weight!  Why,  Edith,  you  would  rest  like 
down  on  his  mounting  wings.  You  would  give  them  a  more 
heavenly  flight.  Do  not,  beloved  Edith,  indulge  these  morbid 
feelings.  There  is  a  love,  stronger,  deeper  than  a  sister's  affec- 
tion. You  feel  it  now.  You  forgive  me  for  loving  Ernest. 
You  forgive  him  for  loving  me.  I  believe  Julian  worthy  of 
your  heart.  Give  him  hope,  give  him  time,  and  he  will  come 
erelong,  crowned  with  laurels,  and  lay  them  smiling  at  your 
feet." 

"  Dear,  inspiring  Gabriella ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  infuse 
new  life  and  joy  into  my  inmost  soul.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  dis- 
card these  crutches  and  walk  on  air.  No ;  I  am  not  helpless. 
If  there  was  need,  I  could  toil  for  him  I  loved  with  all  a 
woman's  zeal.  These  hands  could  minister  to  his  necessities, 
this  heart  be  a  shield  and  buckler  in  the  hour  of  danger. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  am  lifted  above  want,  and  how  blest  to  share 
the  gifts  of  fortune  with  one  they  would  so  nobly  grace  !  But 
do  you  really  think  that  I  ought  to  indulge  such  dreams  ?  Am 
not  I  a  cripple  ?  Has  not  God  set  a  mark  upon  me  ?  " 

"  No,  —  you  shall  not  call  yourself  one.  You  are  only  lifted 
above  the  gross  earth,  because  you  are  more  angelic  than  the 
rest  of  us.  I  hear  your  mother's  coming  footsteps  ;  I  will  leave 
you  together,  that  you  may  reveal  to  her  all  that  is  passing  in 
your  heart." 

I  left  her ;  and  as  I  passed  Mrs.  Linwood  on  the  stairs,  and 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

met  her  anxious  eyes,  I  said :  "  Edith  has  the  heart  of  a  woman. 
I  know  by  my  own  experience  how  gently  you  will  deal  with 
it." 

She  kissed  me  without  speaking ;  but  I  read  in  her  expres- 
sive countenance  that  mingled  look  of  grief  and  resignation 
with  which  we  follow  a  friend  to  that  bourne  where  we  cannot 
follow  them.  Edith  was  lost  to  her.  She  was  willing  to  for- 
sake her  mother  for  the  stranger's  home,  —  she  who  seemed 
bound  to  her  by  the  dependence  of  childhood,  as  well  as  the 
close  companionship  of  riper  years.  I  read  this  in  her  sad- 
dened glance ;  but  I  did  not  deem  her  selfish.  Other  feelings, 
too,  doubtless  blended  with  her  own  personal  regrets.  She  had 
no  reason  to  look  upon  marriage  as  a  state  of  perfect  felicity 
Her  own  had  been  unhappy.  She  knew  the  dark  phantom  that 
haunted  our  wedded  hours  ;  and  what  if  the  same  hereditary 
curse  should  cling  to  Edith,  —  who  might  become  morbidly  sen- 
sitive on  account  of  her  personal  misfortune  ? 

Knowing  it  was  the  last  evening  of  our  stay,  I  felt  as  if 
every  moment  were  lost,  passed  within  doors.  It  seemed  to 
tee,  now,  as  if  I  had  literally  seen  nothing,  so  stupendously  did 
images  of  beauty  and  grandeur  grow  upon  my  mind,  and  so 
consciously  and  surprisingly  did  my  mind  expand  to  receive 
them. 

The  hour  of  sunset  approached,  —  the  last  sunset  that  I 
should  behold,  shining  in  golden  glory  on  the  sheeted  foam  of 
the  Falls.  And  then  I  saw,  what  I  never  expect  to  witness 
again,  till  I  see  the  eternal  rainbows  round  about  the  throne  of 
God,  —  three  entire  respondent  circles,  one  glowing  with  seven- 
fold beams  within  the  other,  full,  clear,  distinct  as  the  starry 
stripes  of  our  country's  banner,  —  no  fracture  in  the  smooth, 
majestic  curves,  —  no  dimness  in  the  gorgeous  dyes. 

And  moonlight,  —  moonlight  on  the  Falls  !  I  have  read  of 
moonlight  on  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum  ;  in  the  mouldering  re- 
mains of  Grecian  elegance  and  Roman  magnificence ;  but  what 
is  it  compared  to  this  ?  The  eternal  youth,  the  undecaying 
grandeur  of  nature,  illumined  by  that  celestial  light  which  lends 


354  EBNEST     LIN  WOOD* 

glory  to  ruins,  and  throws  the  illusion  of  beauty  over  the  fe» 
tures  of  decay ! 

Edith  wandered  with  Julian  in  the  stilly  moonlight,  and  their 
low  voices  were  heard  by  each  other  amid  the  din  of  the  roar- 
ing cataract. 

Ernest  was  troubled.  He  was  jealous  even  of  a  sister's  love, 
and  looked  coldly  on  the  aspiring  Julian. 

"  He  must  prove  himself  worthy  of  Edith,"  he  said.  "  He 
must  not  follow  her  to  Grandison  Place,  till  he  can  bring  cre- 
dentials, establishing  his  claims  to  confidence  and  regard." 

Before  we  parted  at  night  Edith  drew  me  aside,  and  told 
me  that  her  mother  had  consented  to  leave  the  decision  of  her 
destiny  to  time,  which  would  either  prove  Julian's  claims  to 
her  love,  or  convince  her  that  he  was  unworthy  of  her  regard. 
He  was  not  permitted  to  accompany  her  home ;  but  she  was  sure 
he  would  follow,  with  testimonials,  such  as  a  prince  need  not 
blush  to  own. 

"  How  strange,  how  very  strange  it  seems,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  beaming  with  that  soft  and  sunny  light  which  comes  from 
the  day  spring  of  the  heart,  "  for  me  to  look  forward  to  a  future 
such  as  now  I  see,  through  a  flowery  vista  of  hope  and  love. 
How  strange,  that  in  so  short  a  time  so  mighty  a  change  should 
be  wrought!  Had  Ernest  remained  single,  my  heart  would 
have  known  no  vacuum,  so  entirely  did  he  fill,  so  exclusively 
did  he  occupy  it.  But  since  his  marriage  it  has  seemed  a 
lonely  temple  with  a  deserted  shrine.  Julian  has  strewed 
flowers  upon  the  altar,  and  their  fragrance  has  perfumed  my  life. 
Even  if  they  wither,  their  odor  will  remain  and  shed  sweetness 
over  my  dying  hour." 

Sweet,  angelic  Edith !  may  no  untimely  blight  fall  on  thy 
garland  of  love,  no  thorns  be  found  with  its  glowing  blossoms, 
no  canker-worm  of  jealousy  feed  on  their  early  bloom. 

The  morning  of  our  departure,  as  I  looked  back  where 
Julian  stood,  pale  and  agitated,  following  the  receding  form  of 
Edith,  with  a  glance  of  the  most  intense  emotion,  I  saw  a  gen- 
tleman approach  the  pillar  against  which  he  was  leaning,  whose 
apjiearance  riveted  my  attention.  He  was  a  stranger,  who  had 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  855 

probably  arrived  the  evening  before,  and,  preoccupied  as  Julian 
was,  he  extended  his  hand  eagerly  to  meet  the  grasp  of  his. 
He  was  tall,  much  taller  than  Julian,  and  of  a  very  stately 
mien.  He  looked  as  if  he  might  be  in  the  meridian  of  life,  and 
yet  his  hair,  originally  black,  was  mingled  witk  snowy  locks 
around  the  temples,  and  on  the  crown  of  his  head.  I  saw  this 
as  he  lifted  his  hat  on  approaching  Julian,  with  the  firm,  proud 
step  which  indicates  intellectual  power.  What  was  there  about 
this  stranger  that  haunted  me  long  after  the  thunders  of  the 
cataract  had  ceased  to  reverberate  on  the  ear  ?  Where  had  I 
seen  a  countenance  and  figure  resembling  his  ?  Why  did  I 
•feel  an  irresistible  desire  to  check  the  rolling  wheels  that  bore 
me  every  moment  further  from  that  stately  form  with  its  crown 
of  living  snow  ? 

"  How  long  will  you  remain  in  that  uncomfortable  position  ?  " 
asked  Ernest.  The  spell  was  broken.  I  turned,  and  met  the 
glance  that  needed  no  explanation.  This  earnest  scrutiny  of 
a  stranger  excited  his  displeasure  ;  and  I  did  not  wonder,  when 
I  thought  of  the  strange  fascination  I  had  experienced.  I 
blushed,  and  drew  my  veil  over  my  face, —  resolving  henceforth 
to  set  a  guard  over  my  eyes  as  well  as  my  lips.  It  was  the  first 
dark-flashing  glance  I  had  met  since  I  had  left  Grandison 
Place.  It  was  the  last  expiring  gleam  of  a  baleful  flame.  I 
knew  it  must  be  ;  and,  leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  I  sunk  into 
one  of  those  reveries  which  I  used  to  indulge  in  childhood, 
—  when  the  gates  of  sunset  opened  to  admit  my  wandering 
spirit,  and  the  mysteries  of  cloud-land  were  revealed  to  the 
dream-girl's  eye. 
23 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 


THE  very  evening  after  our  return,  while  Dr.  Ilarlowe  waa 
giving  an  account  of  his  stewardship,  and  congratulating  Edith 
and  myself  on  the  bloom  and  animation  we  had  acquired,  a 
gentleman  was  announced,  and  Richard  Clyde  entered.  The 
heartfelt,  joyous  welcome  due  to  the  friend  who  is  just  returned 
from  a  foreign  land,  greeted  his  entrance.  Had  I  known  of  his 
coming,  I  might  have  repressed  the  pleasure  that  now  spon- 
taneously rose  ;  but  I  forgot  every  thing  at  this  moment,  but 
the  companion  of  my  childhood,  the  sympathizing  mourner  by 
my  mother's  grave,  the  unrequited  lover,  but  the  true  and  con- 
stant friend.  He  was  so  much  improved  in  person  and  man- 
aers ;  he  was  so  self-possessed,  so  manly,  so  frank,  so  cordial ! 
He  came  among  us  like  a  burst  of  sunshine  ;  and  we  all  —  all 
but  one  —  felt  his  genial  influence.  He  came  into  the  family 
like  a  long  absent  son  and  brother.  Why  could  not  Ernest  have 
welcomed  him  as  such  ?  Why  did  he  repel  with  coldness  and 
suspicion  the  honest,  ingenuous  heart  that  longed  to  meet  his  with 
fraternal  warmth  and  confidence  ?  I  could  not  help  drawing 
comparisons  unfavorable  to  Ernest.  He,  who  had  travelled 
through  the  same  regions,  who  had  drank  of  the  same  inspiring 
(Streams  of  knowledge  as  the  young  student,  who  came  fresh 
and  buoyant  from  the  classic  halls  where  he  had  himself  gained 
honor  and  distinction,  —  he,  sat  cold  and  reserved,  while  Richard 
dispensed  life  and  brightness  on  all  around. 

"  Oh,  how  much  this  is  like  home !  "  he  exclaimed,  when  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  compelled  him  to  depart ;  "  how  happy, 
Low  grateful  I  am,  to  meet  so  kind,  so  dear  a  welcome.  It 

(363) 


EENEST    LINWOOD.  85? 

warmed  my  heart,  in  anticipation,  beyond  the  Atlantic  waves. 
I  remembered  the  maternal  kindness  that  cheered  and  sustained 
me  in  my  collegiate  probation,  and  blessed  my  dawning  man- 
hood. I  remembered  Edith's  heavenly  music,  and  Gabri- 
ella's  " 

He  had  become  so  excited  by  the  recollections  he  was  cloth- 
ing in  words,  that  he  lost  the  command  of  his  voice  as  soon  as 
he  mentioned  my  name.  Perhaps  the  associations  connected 
with  it  were  more  powerful  than  he  imagined ;  but  whatever 
was  the  cause  he  stopped  abruptly,  bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Linwood  followed  him  into  the  passage,  and  I  heard  her 
telling  him  that  he  must  consider  Grandison  Place  his  home 
indeed,  for  she  felt  that  she  had  welcomed  back  another  be- 
loved son.  She  was  evidently  hurt  by  the  chilling  reserve  of 
Ernest's  manners,  and  wished  to  make  up  for  it  by  the  cordial 
warmth  of  her  own. 

"  There  goes  as  fine  a  youth  as  ever  quickened  the  pulses  of 
a  maiden's  heart,"  said  Dr.  Harlowe,  as  Richard's  quick  steps 
were  heard  on  the  gravel  walk ;  "  I  am  proud  of  him,  we  all 
ought  to  be  proud  of  him.  lie  is  a  whole-souled,  whole-hearted, 
right-minded  young  man,  worth  a  dozen  of  your  fashionable 
milk-sops.  He  is  a  right  down  splendid  fellow.  I  cannot  imag- 
ine why  this  sly  little  puss  was  so  blind  to  his  merits ;  but  I 
suppose  the  greater  glory  dimmed  the  less." 

Good,  excellent  Dr.  Harlowe  !  Why  was  he  always  saying 
something  to  rouse  the  slumbering  serpent  in  the  bosom  of  Er- 
nest ?  Slumbering,  did  I  say  ?  Alas  !  it  was  already  awak- 
ened, and  watching  for  its  prey.  The  doctor  had  the  simplicity 
of  a  child,  but  the  shrewdness  of  a  man.  Had  he  dreamed  of  the 
suffering  Ernest's  unfortunate  temperament  caused,  he  would 
have  blistered  his  tongue  sooner  than  have  given  me  a  moment's 
pain.  He  suspected  him  of  jealousy,  of  the  folly,  not  the  mad- 
ness of  jealousy,  and  mischievously  liked  to  sport  with  a  weak- 
ness which  he  supposed  evaporated  with  the  cloud  of  the  brow, 
or  vanished  in  the  lightning  of  the  eye.  He  little  imagined  the 
etormy  gust  that  swept  over  us  after  his  departure. 

"  Mother  ! "    exclaimed    Ernest,  as  soon  as  the  doctor  had 


858  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

closed  the  door,  in  a  lone  which  I  had  never  heard  him  use  to 
her  before,  "  I  will  no  longer  tolerate  that  man's  impertinence 
and  presumption.  He  never  comes  here  that  he  does  not  utter 
insulting  words,  which  no  gentleman  should  allow  in  his  own 
house.  It  is  not  the  first,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third  time 
that  he  has  insulted  me  through  my  wife.  His  superior  age, 
and  your  profound  respect  for  him,  shall  no  longer  prevent  the 
expression  of  my  indignation.  I  shall  let  him  know  on  what 
terms  he  ever  again  darkens  this  threshold." 

"  Ernest !  "  cried  his  mother,  with  a  look  in  which  indignation 
and  grief  struggled  for  mastery,  "  do  you  forget  that  it  is  your 
mother  whom  you  are  addressing?  —  that  it  is  her  threshold 
not  yours  on  which  you  have  laid  this  withering  ban  ?  " 

"  Had  not  Dr.  Harlowe  been  your  friend,  and  this  house 
yours,  I  should  have  told  him  my  sentiments  long  since ;  but 
while  I  would  not  forget  my  respect  as  a  son,  I  must  remember 
my  dignity  as  a  husband,  and  I  will  allow  no  man  to  treat  my 
wife  with  the  familiarity  he  uses,  polluting  her  wedded  ears 
with  allusions  to  her  despairing  lovers,  and  endeavoring  indi- 
rectly to  alienate  her  affections  from  me." 

"  Stop,  Ernest,  you  are  beside  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood, 
and  the  mounting  color  in  her  face  deepened  to  crimson,  —  "you 
shall  not  thus  asperse  a  good  and  guileless  man.  Your  insane 
passion  drives  you  from  reason,  from  honor,  and  from  right.  It 
dwarfs  the  fair  proportions  of  your  mind,  and  deforms  its  moral 
beauty.  I  have  been  wrong,  sinful,  weak,  in  yielding  to  your 
infirmity,  and  trying  by  every  gentle  and  persuasive  means  to 
lead  you  into  the  green  pastures  and  by  the  still  waters  of  do- 
mestic peace.  I  have  counselled  Gabriella,  when  I  have  seen 
her  young  heart  breaking  under  the  weight  of  your  suspicions, 
to  bow  meekly  and  let  the  storm  pass  over  her.  But  I  do  so  no 
more.  I  will  tell  her  to  stand  firm  and  undaunted,  and  breast 
the  tempest.  I  will  stand  by  her  side,  and  support  her  in  my 
arms,  and  shield  her  with  my  breast.  Come,  Gabriella.  come, 
my  child  ;  if  my  son  will  be  unjust,  will  be  insane,  I  will  at  least 
protect  you  from  the  consequences  of  his  guilty  rashness." 

1  sprang  into  her  arms  that  opened  to  enfold  me,  and  hid  my 


ERNEST     LI  K  WOOD.  859 

face  on  her  breast.  I  could  not  bear  to  look  upon  the  humilia- 
tion of  Ernest,  who  stood  like  one  transfixed  by  his  mother's 
rebuking  glance.  I  trembled  like  an  aspen,  there  was  some- 
thing so  fearful  in  the  roused  indignation  of  one  usually  so 
calm  and  self-possessed.  Edith  sunk  upon  a  seat  in  a  passion 
of  tears,  and  "  oh,  brother !  —  oh,  mother  ! "  burst  through 
thick -coming  sobs  from  her  quivering  lips. 

"  Mother  !  "  exclaimed  Ernest,  —  and  his  voice  sounded  hol- 
low and  unnatural,  —  "I  have  reason  to  be  angry,  —  I  do  not 
deserve  this  stern  rebuke,  —  you  know  not  how  much  I  have 
borne  and  forborne  for  your  sake.  But  if  my  mother  teaches 
that  rebellion  to  my  will  is  a  wife's  duty,  it  is  time  indeed  that 
•we  should  part." 

"  Oh,  Ernest !  "  cried  Edith  ;  "  oh,  my  brother  !  you  will 
break  my  heart." 

And  rising,  she  seemed  to  fly  to  his  side,  and  throwing  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  she  lifted  up  her  voice  and  wept  aloud. 

"  Hush,  my  daughter,  hush,  Edith,"  said  her  mother.  "  I 
wish  my  son  to  hear  me,  and  if  they  were  the  last  words  I  ever 
expected  to  utter,  they  could  not  be  more  solemn.  I  have 
loved  you,  Ernest,  with  a  love  bordering  on  idolatry,  —  with  a 
pride-  most  sinful  in  a  Christian  parent,  —  but  even  the  strength 
of  a  mother's  love  will  yield  at  last  before  the  stormy  passions 
that  desolate  her  home.  The  spirit  of  the  Spartan  mother, 
who  told  her  son  when  he  left  her  for  the  battle  field,  '  to  return 
with  his  shield,  or  on  it,'  animates  my  bosom.  I  had  far,  far 
rather  weep  over  the  grave  of  my  son,  than  live  to  blush  for  his 
degeneracy." 

"  And  I  would  far  rather  be  in  my  grave,  this  moment,"  he 
answered,  in  the  same  hoarse,  deep  undertone,  "  than  suffer 
the  agonies  of  the  last  few  hours.  Let  me  die,  —  let  me  die  at 
once ;  then  take  this  young  man  to  your  bosom,  where  he  has 
already  supplanted  me.  Make  him  your  son  in  a  twofold 
sense,  for,  by  the  heaven  that  hears  me,  I  believe  you  would 
bless  the  hour  that  gave  him  the  right  to  Gabriella's  love." 

"  Father,  forgive  him,  he  knows  not  what  he  utters,"  raur 
mured  his  mother,  lifting  her  joined  hands  to  heaven.  I 


360  ERNEST     UN  WOOD. 

still  clung  to  her  in  trembling  awe,  forgetting  my  own  sorrow 
in  the  depth  and  sacredness  of  hers.  "  Ernest,"  she  said,  in  a 
louder  tone,  "  I  cannot  continue  this  painful  scene.  I  will  go  to 
my  own  chamber  and  pray  for  you  ;  pray  for  your  release  from 
the  dominion  of  the  powers  of  darkness.  Oh,  my  son  !  I 
tremble  for  you.  You  are  standing  on  the  brink  of  a  terrible 
abyss.  The  fiend  that  lurked  in  the  bowers  of  Eden,  and  made 
its  flowers  dim  with  the  smoke  of  fraternal  blood,  is  whimpering 
in  your  ear.  Beware,  my  son,  beware.  Every  sigh  and  teat 
caused  by  the  indulgence  of  unhallowed  passion,  cries  as  loud  to 
Almighty  God  for  vengeance  as  Abel's  reeking  blood.  Come, 
Gabriella,  I  leave  him  to  reflection  and  prayer.  I  leave  him  to 
God  and  his  own  soul.  Come,  Edith,  leave  him  and  follow  me." 

There  was  something  so  commanding  in  her  accent  and  man- 
ner I  dared  not  resist  her,  though  I  longed  to  remain  and  whis- 
per words  of  peace  and  love  to  my  unhappy  husband.  I  knew 
that  his  soul  must  be  crushed  into  the  dust,  and  my  heart  bled 
for  his  sufferings.  Edith,  too,  withdrew  her  clinging  arms,  for 
she  dared  not  disobey  her  mother,  and  slowly  and  sadly  followed 
us  up  the  winding  stairs. 

"  Go  to  bed,  my  child,"  said  she  to  Edith,  when  we  reached 
the  upper  platform.  "  May  God  in  his  mercy  spare  you  from 
witnessing  another  scene  like  this." 

"  Oh,  mother !  I  never  shall  feel  happy  again.  My  poor 
brother !  you  did  not  see  him,  mother,  when  you  left  him.  You 
did  not  look  upon  him,  or  you  "could  not  have  left  him.  There 
was  death  on  his  face.  Forgive  him,  dear  mother !  take  him 
back  to  your  heart." 

"  And  do  you  think  he  is  not  here  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  pressing 
her  hands  on  her  heart,  as  if  trying  to  sustain  herself  under  an 
intense  pain.  "  Do  you  think  he  suffers  alone  ?  Do  you  think 
I  have  left  him,  but  for  his  good?  Do  you  think  I  would 
not  now  gladly  fold  him  in  my  arms  and  bathe  his  soul  in  the 
overflowing  tenderness  of  maternal  love  ?  O  child,  child ! 
Earth  has  no  sounding  line  to  fathom  the  depths  of  a  mother's 
Weart.  Good-night.  God  bless  you,  my  darling  Edith." 

"And  Gabriella?" 


ERNEST     I.  IN  WOOD.  861 

"  Will  remain  with  me  " 

Mrs.  Linwood,  whose  left  arm  still  encircled  me,  brought  mo 
into  her  chamber,  and  closed  the  door.  She  was  excessively 
pale,  and  I  mechanically  gave  her  a  glass  of  water.  She 
thanked  me ;  and  seating  herself  at  a  little  table,  on  which  an 
astral  lamp  was  burning,  she  began  to  turn  the  leaves  of  a 
Bible,  which  always  lay  there.  I  observed  that  her  hands 
trembled  and  that  her  lips  quivered. 

"  There  is  but  one  fountain  which  can  refresh  the  fainting 
spirit,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  the  sacred  volume.  "  It  is 
the  fountain  of  living  waters,  which,  whosoever  will,  may  drink, 
and  receive  immortal  strength." 

She  turned  the  leaves,  but  there  was  mist  over  her  vision,  — 
she  could  not  distinguish  the  well-known  characters. 

"  Read  for  me,  my  beloved  Gabriella,"  said  she,  rising  and 
motioning  me  to  the  seat  she  had  quitted.  "  I  was  looking  for 
the  sixty-second  Psalm." 

She  seated  herself  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain,  while  I 
nerved  myself  for  the  appointed  task.  My  voice  was  at  first 
low  and  tremulous,  but  as  the  sound  of  the  words  reached  my 
ear,  they  penetrated  my  soul,  like  a  strain  of  solemn  music.  I 
felt  the  divine  influence  of  those  breathings  of  humanity,  sanc- 
tified by  the  inspiration  of  the  Deity.  I  felt  the  same  con- 
sciousness of  man's  insignificance  as  when  I  listened  to  Niaga- 
ra's eternal  roar.  And  yet,  if  God  cared  for  us,  there  was  ex- 
altation and  glory  in  the  thought. 

"  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul  ?  and  why  art  thou  dis- 
quieted within  me  ?  hope  thou  in  God,  for  I  shall  yet  praise 
him,  who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance  and  my  God." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  as  I  paused  on  this  beautiful 
and  consoling  verse  ;  "  your  voice  is  sweet,  my  child,  and  there 
is  balm  in  every  hallowed  word." 

I  turned  to  the  ninety-first  Psalm,  which  I  had  so  often  read 
to  my  own  dear  mother,  and  which  I  had  long  known  by  heart ; 
then  the  hundred  and  sixteenth,  which  was  a  favorite  of  Er- 
nest's. My  voice  faltered.  I  thought  of  him  in  loneliness  and 
anguish,  and  my  tears  blotted  the  sacred  lines.  We  both  r^ 


862  ERNKST     LIXWOOD. 

mained  silent,  for  the  awe  of  God's  spirit  was  upon  u?,  and  the 
atmosphere  made  holy  by  the  incen.se  of  His  breath. 

A  low,  faint  knock  at  the  door.  "  Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Lin- 
•wood,  supposing  it  a  servant.  She  started,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Ernest,  pale  as  a  gliost,  stood  on  the  threshold.  I 
made  a  movement  towards  him,  but  he  did  not  look  at  me.  His 
eyes  were  riveted  on  his  mother,  who  had  half  risen  at  his  en- 
trance, but  sunk  back  on  her  seat.  He  passed  by  me,  and  ap- 
proaching the  window  where  she  sat,  knelt  at  her  feet,  and 
bowed  his  head  in  her  lap. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  in  broken  accents,  "  I  come,  like  the  re- 
turning prodigal.  I  have  sinned  against  Heaven  and  thee,  and 
am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son,  —  give  me  but  the  hire- 
ling's place,  provided  it  be  near  thy  heart." 

"  And  have  I  found  thee  again,  my  son,  my  Ernest,  my  be- 
loved, my  only  one  ?  "  she  cried,  bending  down  and  clasping  her 
arms  around  him.  "  Heavenly  Father !  I  thank  thee  for  this 
hour." 

Never  had  I  loved  them  both  as  I  did  at  that  moment,  when 
the  holy  tears  of  penitence  and  pardon  mingled  on  their  cheeks, 
and  baptized  their  spirits  as  in  a  regenerating  shower.  My  own 
tears  flowed  in  unison ;  but  I  drew  back,  feeling  as  if  it  were 
sacrilege  to  intrude  on  such  a  scene.  My  first  impulse  was  to 
steal  from  the  room,  leaving  them  to  the  unwitnessed  indulgence 
of  their  sacred  emotions ;  but  I  must  pass  them,  and  I  would 
not  that  even  the  hem  of  my  garments  should  rustle  against 
them. 

Mrs.  Linwood  was  the  first  to  recognize  my  presence ;  she 
raised  her  head  and  beckoned  me  to  approach.  As  I  obeyed 
her  motion,  Ernest  rose  from  his  knees,  and  taking  my  hand,  held 
it  for  a  moment  closely,  firmly  in  his  own ;  he  did  not  embrace 
me,  as  he  had  always  done  in  the  transports  of  reconciliation  ; 
he  seemed  to  hold  me  from  him  in  that  controlling  grasp,  and 
there  was  something  thrilling,  yet  repelling,  in  the  dark  depths 
of  his  eyes  that  held  me  bound  to  the  spot  where  I  stood. 

u Remain  with  my  mother,  Gabriella,"  said  he ;  "I  give  yoa 


ERNEST     LINTVOOD  863 

b*ek  ^  her  guardianship,  till  I  have  done  penance  for  the  sins 
of  this  night.  The  lips  that  have  dared  to  epeak  to  a  mother, 
and  such  a  mother,  the  words  of  bitterness  And  passion,  are  un- 
worthy to  receive  the  pledge  of  love.  My  eyes  are  opened  to 
the  enormity  of  my  offence,  and  I  abhor  myself  in  dust  and 
ashes ;  my  spirit  shall  clothe  itself  in  garnu  nts  of  sackcloth  and 
mourning,  and  drink  of  the  bitter  cup  of  humiliation.  Hear,  then, 
my  solemn  vow  ;  —  nay,  my  mother,  nay,  Gabriella,  —  I  must,  I 
will  speak.  My  Saviour  fasted  forty  days  and  forty  nights  in 
the  wilderness,  he,  who  knew  not  sin,  and  shall  not  I,  vile  as  a 
malefactor,  accursed  as  a  leper,  do  something  to  prove  my  peni- 
tence and  self-abasement  ?  For  forty  days  I  abjure  love,  joy, 
domestic  endearments,  and  social  pleasures,  —  I  will  li ve  on  bread 
and  water,  —  I  will  sleep  on  the  uncarpeted  floor,  —  or  pass  my 
nights  under  the  canopy  of  heaven." 

Pale  and  shuddering  I  listened  to  this  wild,  stern  vow,  fearing 
that  his  reason  was  forsaking  him.  No  m&rtyr  at  the  stake  ever 
wore  an  expression  of  more  sublime  self-sacrifice. 

"  Alas,  my  son ! "  exclaimed  his  mother,  "  one  tear  such  as 
you  have  shed  this  hour  is  worth  a  hundred  ra?h  vows.  Vain 
and  useless  are  they  as  the  iron  bed,  the  girdle  of  steel,  the 
scourge  of  the  fanatic,  who  expects  to  force  by  self-inflicted 
tortures  the  gates  of  heaven  to  open.  Do  you  realize  to  what 
Bufferings  you  are  dooming  the  hearts  that  love  you,  and  whose 
happiness  is  boun'l  up  in  yours  ?  Do  you  realize  that  you  are 
making  our  home  dark  and  gloomy  as  the  dungeons  of  the 
Inquisition  ?  " 

"  Not  so,  my  mother ;  Gabriella  shall  be  free  as  air,  free  as 
before  she  breathed  her  marriage  vows.  To  your  care  I  commit 
her.  Let  not  one  thought  of  me  cloud  the  sunshine  of  the  do- 
mestic board,  or  wither  one  garland  of  household  joy.  I  have 
imposed  this  penance  on  myself  in  expiation  of  my  offences  as 
a  son  and  as  a  husband.  If  I  am  wrong,  may  a  merciful  God 
forgive  me.  The  words  are  uttered,  and  cannot  be  recalled.  I 
cannot  add  perjury  to  the  dark  list  of  my  transgressions.  Farewell, 
mother ;  farewell,  Gabriella ;  pray  for  me.  Your  prayers  will 


864  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

sail  down  ministering  angels,  who  shall  come  to  me  in  the  hoar 
of  nature's  agony,  to  relieve  and  sustain  me." 

He  left  us,  closed  the  door,  and  passed  down  the  stairs,  which 
gave  a  faint  echo  to  his  retreating  footsteps.  We  looked  at  each 
other  in  grief  and  amazement,  and  neither  of  us  spoke  for  sev- 
eral minutes. 

"  My  poor,  misguided  boy ! "  at  length  burst  from  his  mother's 
pale  lips,  "  I  fear  I  was  too  harsh,  —  I  probed  him  too  deeply,  — 
I  have  driven  him  to  the  verge  of  madness.  Oh !  how  difficult 
it  is  to  deal  with  a  spirit  so  strangely,  so  unhappily  constituted  ! 
I  have  tried  indulgence,  and  the  evil  seemed  to  grow  with 
alarming  rapidity.  I  have  exercised  a  parent's  authority,  and 
behold  the  result.  I  can  do  nothing  now,  but  obey  his  part- 
ing injunction,  — pray  for  him." 

She  folded  her  hands  across  her  knees,  and  looked  down  in 
deep,  revolving  thought. 

Forty  days  of  gloom  and  estrangement !  Forty  days  !  Oh  ! 
what  a  wilderness  would  life  be  during  those  long,  long  days  ! 
And  what  was  there  beyond  ?  I  dared  not  think.  A  dreary 
shadow  of  coming  desolation,  —  like  the  cold,  gray  mist  which 
wrapped  me  as  I  stood  on  the  rocks  of  Niagara,  hung  over  the 
future.  Would  I  lift  it  if  I  could?  Oh,  no!  Perish  the 
hand  that  would  anticipate  the  day  of  God's  revealing. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

ERNEST,  faithful  to  his  vow,  slept  on  the  floor  in  the  library, 
and  though  he  sat  down  at  the  table  with  us,  he  tasted  nothing 
but  bread  and  water.  A  stranger  might  not  have  observed 
any  striking  difference  in  his  manners,  but  he  had  forbidden 
himself  even  the  glance  of  affection,  and  his  eye  studiously 
and  severely  avoided  mine.  From  the  table  he  returned  to  the 
library,  and  shut  himself  up  till  the  next  bell  summoned  us  to 
our  now  joyless  and  uncomfortable  meals. 

I  cannot  describe  the  tortures  I  endured  during  this  season 
of  unnatural  and  horrible  constraint.  It  sometimes  seemed  as 
if  I  should  grow  crazy ;  and  poor  Edith  was  scarcely  less  un- 
happy. It  was  now  that  Mrs.  Linwood  showed  her  extraor- 
dinary powers  of  self-control,  her  wisdom,  and  intellectual 
strength.  Calmly  and  serenely  she  fulfilled  her  usual  duties, 
as  mistress  of  her  household  *nd  benefactress  of  the  village. 
To  visitors  and  friends  she  was  the  same  hospitable  and  charm- 
ing hostess  that  had  thrown  such  enchantment  over  the  granite 
walls  of  Grandison  Place.  She  had  marked  out  the  line  of. 
duty  for  Edith  and  myself,  which  we  tried  to  follow,  but  it  was 
often  with- sinking  hearts  and  faltering  footsteps. 

"  If  Ernest  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty  has  bound  himself 
by  a  painful  and  unnatural  vow,"  said  she,  in  that  tone  of  grave 
Bweetness  which  was  so  irresistible, "  we  must  not  forget  the  social 
and  domestic  duties  of  life.  A  threefold  responsibility  rests  upon 
us,  for  we  must  endeavor  to  bear  the  burden  he  has  laid  down. 
He  must  not  see  the  unlimited  power  he  has  over  our  happi- 
ness, a  power  he  is  now  unconsciously  abusing.  Smile,  my 

(365) 


866  EKNKST     LIN  WOOD. 

children,  indulge  in  all  innocent  recreations ;  let  me  hear  once 
more  your  voices  echoing  on  the  lawn;  let  me  hear  the  soothing 
notes  of  my  Edith's  harp ;  let  me  see  my  Gahriella's  fiftgera 
weaving  as  wont,  sweet  garlands  of  flowers." 

And  now,  the  house  began  to  be  filled  up  with  visitors  from 
the  city,  who  had  been  anxiously  waiting  the  return  of  Mrs. 
Linwood.  The  character  of  Ernest  for  eccentricity  and  moodi- 
ness  was  so  well  known,  that  the  peculiar  situation  in  which  he 
had  placed  himself  did  not  attract  immediate  attention.  But  I 
knew  I  must  appear,  what  I  in  reality  was  for  the  time,  a 
neglected  and  avoided  wife ;  and  most  bitterly,  keenly,  did  I 
puffer  in  consequence  of  this  impression.  In  spite  of  the  pain 
it  had  caused,  I  was  proud  of  Ernest's  exclusive  devotion,  and 
the  notice  it  attracted.  I  knew  I  was,  by  the  mortification  I 
experienced,  when  that  devotion  was  withdrawn.  It  is  true,  I 
knew  he  was  inflicting  on  himself  torments  to  which  the  fabled 
agonies  of  Tantalus,  Sisyphus,  and  Ixion  combined  could  not  be 
compared ;  but  others  did  not ;  they  saw  the  averted  eye,  the 
coldness,  the  distance,  the  estrangement,  but  they  did  not, 
could  not  see,  the  bleeding  heart,  the  agonized  spirit  hidden  be- 
neath the  veil. 

I  ought  to  mention  here  the  reason  that  Mr.  Regulus  did 
not  come  as  usual  to  welcome  us  on  our  return.  He  had  been 

appointed  professor  of  mathematics  in  College,  and  had 

given  up  the  charge  of  the  academy  where  he  had  taught  so 
many  years  with  such  indefatigable  industry  and  distinguished 
success.  He  was  now  visiting  in  Boston,  but  immediately  on 
his  return  was  to  depart  to  the  scene  of  his  new  labors. 

Mr.  Regulus,  or,  as  we  should  now  call  him,  Professor  Regu« 
lus,  had  so  long  been  considered  a  fixture  in  town,  this  change  in 
his  destiny  created  quite  a  sensation  in  the  circle  in  which  he 
moved.  It  seemed  impossible  to  do  without  him.  He  was  as 
much  a  part  of  the  academy  as  the  colossal  pen,  whose  gilded 
feathers  still  swept  the  blue  of  ether.  Were  it  not  for  the  blight 
that  had  fallen  on  my  social  joys,  I  should  have  mourned  the 
loss  of  this  steadfast  friend  of  my  orphan  years  ;  but  now  I 
could  not  regret  it.  The  mildew  of  suspicion  rested  on  our  in* 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  867 

tercourse,  and  all  its  pleasant  bloom  was  blasted.  He  was  in 
Boston.  Had  he  gone  to  ask  the  dauntless  Meg  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  his  life,  in  the  more  exalted  sphere  in  which  he  was 
about  to  move?  And  would  she  indeed  suffer  her  "  wild  heart 
to  be  tamed  by  a  loving  hand  ?  " 

What  delightful  evenings  we  might  now  have  enjoyed  had 
not  the  dark  passion  of  Ernest  thrown  such  a  chilling  shadow 
over  the  household !  Richard  came  almost  every  night,  for  it 
was  his  home.  He  loved  and  reverenced  Mrs.  Linwood,  as  if 
she  were  his  own  mother.  Edith  was  to  him  as  a  sweet  and 
gentle  sister ;  and  though  never  by  word  or  action  he  manifested 
a  feeling  for  me  which  I  might  not  sanction  and  return  as  the 
wife  of  another,  I  knew,  that  no  one  had  supplanted  me  in 
his  affections,  that  I  was  still  the  Gabriella  whom  he  had  en- 
shrined in  his  boyish  heart,  —  in  "  all  save  hope  the  same." 
He  saw  that  I  was  unhappy,  and  he  pitied  me.  The  bright 
sparkle  of  his  eye  always  sec-med  quenched  when  it  turned  to 
me,  and  his  voice  when  it  addressed  me  had  a  gentler,  more  sub- 
dued tone.  But  his  spirit  was  so  sparkling,  so  elastic,  his  man- 
ners so  kind  and  winning,  his  conversation  so  easy  and  graceful, 
it  was  impossible  for  sadness  or  constraint  to  dwell  long  in  his 
presence.  Did  I  never  contrast  his  sunny  temper,  his  unselfish 
disposition,  his  happy,  genial  temperament,  with  the  darkness 
and  moodiness  and  despotism  of  Ernest  ?  Did  I  never  sigh  that 
I  had  not  given  my  young  heart  to  one  who  would  have  trusted 
me  even  as  he  loved,  and  surrounded  me  with  a  golden  atmos- 
phere .of  confidence,  calm  and  beautiful  as  an  unclouded  autumn 
sky  ?  Did  I  not  tremble  at  the  thought  of  passing  my  whole 
life  in  the  midst  of  the  tropic  storms,  the  thunders  and  light- 
nings of  passions  ? 

And  yet  I  loved  Ernest  with  all  the  intensity  of  my  first 
affection.  I  would  have  sacrificed  my  life  to  have  given  peace 
to  his  troubled  and  warring  spirit.  His  self-imposed  suffer- 
ings almost  maddened  me.  My  heart,  as  it  secretly  clung  to 
him  and  followed  his  lonely  steps  as,  faithful  to  his  frantic  vow, 
he  withdrew  from  domestic  and  social  intercourse, —  longed 


868  ERNEST     L  I  N  WO  O  D  . 

to   express   its   emotions   in  words   as   wildly  impassioned   M 
these :  — 

"  Thou  hast  called  me  thine  angel  in  moments  of  bliss, 
Still  thine  angel  I  '11  prove  'mid  the  horrors  of  this. 
Through  the  furnace  unshrinking  thy  steps  I  '11  pursue, 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  thee,  and  perish  there  too." 

Oh,  most  beloved,  yet  most  wretched  and  deluded  husband, 
why  was  this  dark  thread,  —  this  cable  cord,  I  might  say,  — 
twisted  with  the  pure  and  silvery  virtues  of  thy  character  ? 

In  the  midst  of  this  unhappy  state  of  things,  Margaret  Mel- 
ville arrived.  She  returned  with  Mr.  Regulus,  who  brought 
her  one  beautiful  evening,  at  the  soft,  twilight  hour,  to  Grandi- 
son  Place.  Whether  it  was  the  subdued  light  in  which  we  first 
beheld  her,  or  the  presence  of  her  dignified  companion,  she 
certainly  was  much  softened.  Her  boisterous  laugh  was  quite 
melodized,  and  her  step  did  not  make  the  crystal  drops  of  the 
girandoles  tinkle  as  ominously  as  they  formerly  did.  Still,  it 
seemed  as  if  a  dozen  guests  had  arrived  in  her  single  person. 
There  was  such  superabundant  vitality  about  her.  As  for  Mr. 
Regulus,  he  was  certainly  going  on  even  unto  perfection,  for 
his  improvement  in  the  graces  was  as  progressive  and  as  steady 
as  the  advance  of  the  rolling  year.  I  could  not  but  notice  the 
extreme  elegance  of  his  dress.  He  was  evidently  "at  some 
cost  to  entertain  himself." 

"  Come  up  stairs  with  me,  darling,"  said  she  to  me.  catching 
my  hand  and  giving  it  an  emphatic  squeeze ;  "  help  me  to  lay 
aside  this  uncomfortable  riding  dress,  —  besides,"  she  whispered, 
"  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

As  we  left  the  room  and  passed  Mr.  Regulus,  who  was  stand- 
ing near  the  door,  the  glance  she  cast  upon  him,  bright,  smiling, 
triumphant,  and  happy,  convinced  me  that  my  conjectures  were 
right, 

*  My  dear  creature  ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  we  were  in 
my  own  chamber,  throwing  herself  down  on  the  first  seat  sne 
saw,  and  shaking  her  hair  loose  over  her  shoulders,  "  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you.  You  do  not  know  how  happy  I  am,  —  I  mean 
how  glad  I  am,  —  you  did  not  expect  me,  did  you  ?  " 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  369 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Regulus  had  gone  to  sec  you,  but  I  did  not 
/enow  that  he  would  be  fortunate  enough  to  bring  you  back  with 
him.  He  discovered  last  winter,  I  have  no  doubt,  what  a  pleas- 
ant travelling  companion  you  were." 

"Oh,  Gabriella,  I  could  tell  you  something  so  strange,  so 
funny,"  —  and  here  she  burst  into  one  of  her  old  ringing 
laughs,  that  seemed  perfectly  uncontrollable. 

"  I  think  I  can  guess  what  it  is,"  I  said,  assisting  her  at  her 
toilet,  which  was  never  an  elaborate  business  with  her.  "  You 
and  Mr.  Regulus  are  very  good  friends,  perhaps  betrothed 
lovers.  Is  that  so  very  strange  ?  " 

"  Who  told  you  ?"  she  exclaimed,  turning  quickly  round,  her 
cheeks  crimsoned  and  her  eyes  sparkling  most  luminously, — 
•'  who  told  you  such  nonsense  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  require  any  supernatural  knowledge  to  know 
this,"  I  answered.  "  I  anticipated  it  when  you  were  in  New 
York,  and  most  sincerely  do  I  congratulate  you  on  the  posses- 
sion of  so  excellent  and  noble  a  heart.  Prize  it,  dear  Mar- 
garet, and  make  yourself  worthy  of  all  it  can,  of  all  it  will 
impart,  to  ennoble  and  exalt  your  own." 

"  Ah !  I  fear  I  never  shall  be  worthy  of  it,"  she  cried,  giving 
me  an  enthusiastic  embrace,  and  turning  aside  her  head  to  hide 
a  starting  tear ;  "  but  I  do  prize  it,  Gabriella,  beyond  all 
words." 

'"  Ah,  you  little  gypsy  !  "  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  resuming 
her  old  wild  manner,  "  why  did  you  not  prize  it  yourself?  He 
has  told  me  all  about  the  romantic  scenes  of  the  academy,  —  he 
says  you  transformed  him  from  a  rough  boor  into  a  feeling, 
tender-hearted  man,  —  that  you  stole  into  his  very  inmost  being, 
like  the  breath  of  heaven,  and  made  the  barren  wilderness 
blossom  like  the  rose.  Ah  !  you  ought  to  hear  how  beautifully 
he  talks  of  you.  But  I  am  not  jealous  of  you." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  I  involuntarily  cried. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,"  said  she}  looking  earnestly  in  my 
face  ;  "  you  may  well  say  that,  darling.  But  where  is  Ernest  ? 
1  Lave  not  seen  him  yet." 


870  ERNEST     LINTVOOD. 

"  He  is  in  the  library,  I  believe.  He  is  not  very  well ;  and 
you  know  he  never  enjoys  company  much." 

"  The  same  jealous,  unreasonable  being  he  ever  was,  I  dare 
say,"  she  vehemently  exclaimed.  "  It  is  a  shame,  and  a  sin, 
and  a  burning  sin,  for  him  to  go  on  as  he  does.  Mr.  Regulua 
says  he  could  weep  tears  of  blood  to  think  how  you  have  sacri- 
ficed yourself  to  him." 

''  Margaret,  —  Margaret !  If  you  have  one  spark  of  love 
for  me,  —  one  feeling  of  respect  and  regard  for  Mrs.  Linwood, 
your  mother's  friend  and  your  own,  never,  never  speak  of 
Ernest's  peculiarities.  I  cannot  deny  them  ;  I  cannot  deny  that 
they  make  me  unhappy,  and  fill  me  with  sad  forebodings  ;  but 
he  is  my  husband.  —  and  I  cannot  hear  him  spoken  of  with  bit- 
terness. He  is  my  husband  ;  and  I  love  him  in  spite  of  his 
wayward  humors,  with  -all  the  romance  of  girlish  passion,  and 
all  the  tenderness  of  wedded  love." 

"  Is  love  so  strong  as  to  endure  every  thing  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  is  so  divine  as  to  forgive  every  thing,"  I  answered. 

"  Well !  you  are  an  angel,  and  I  will  try  to  set  a  guard  on  these 
wild  lips,  so  that  they  shall  not  say  aught  to  wound  that  dear, 
precious,  blessed  little  heart  of  yours.  I  will  be  just  as  good  as 
I  can  be  ;  and  if  I  forget  myself  once  in  a  while,  you  must  for- 
give me,  —  for  the  old  Adam  is  in  me  yet.  There,  how  does 
that  look  ?  " 

She  had  dressed  herself  in  a  plain  white  muslin,  with  a  white 
sash  carelessly  tied ;  and  a  light  fall  of  lace  was  the  only  cover- 
ing to  her  magnificent  arms  and  neck. 

"  Why,  you  look  like  a  bride,  Margaret,"  said  I.  "  Surely, 
you  must  think  Mrs.  Linwood  is  going  to  have  a  party  to-night. 
Never  mind,  —  we  will  all  admire  you  as  much  as  if  you  were 
a  bride.  Let  me  twist  some  of  these  white  rosebuds  in  your 
hair,  to  complete  the  illusion." 

I  took  some  from  the  vase  that  stood  upon  my  toilet,  and 
wreathed  them  in  her  black,  shining  locks.  She  clapped  her 
hands  joyously  as  she  surveyed  her  image  in  the  mirror ;  then 
laughed  long  and  merrily,  and  asked  if  she  did  not  look  like  a 
fool. 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  871 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  any  thing  peculiar  in  my  dress  ? " 
uhe  suddenly  asked,  pulling  the  lace  rather  strenuously,  consid- 
ering its  gossamer  texture.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  look  ridiculous." 

"  No,  indeed.  It  is  like  Edith's  and  mine.  We  always  wear 
white  muslin  in  summer,  you  know  ;  but  you  never  seemed  to 
care  much  about  dressing  here  in  the  country.  I  never  saw 
you  look  so  well,  so  handsome,  Madge." 

"  Thank  you.  Let  us  go  down.  But,  stop  one  moment.  Do 
you  think  Mrs.  Linwood  will  think  it  strange  that  I  should 
come  here  with  Mr.  Regulus  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  What  do  you  think  she  will  say  about  our  —  our  engage 
ment  ?  " 

"  She  will  be  very  much  pleased.  I  heard  her  say  that  if 
you  should  become  attached  to  a  man  of  worth  and  talents  such 
as  he  possesses,  you  would  become  a  good  and  noble  woman." 

"  Did  she  say  that  ?  Heaven  bless  her,  body  and  soul.  I 
wonder  how  she  could  have  any  trust  or  faith  in  such  a  Green- 
land bear  as  I  have  been.  I  will  not  say  am,  for  I  think  I 
have  improved  some,  do  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  and  I  believe  it  is  only  the  dawn  of  a  beautiful  day 
of  womanhood." 

Margaret  linked  her  arm  in  mine  with  a  radiant  smile  and  a 
vivid  blush,  and  tripped  down  stairs  with  a  lightness  almost 
miraculous.  Mr.  Regulus  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  leaning  on  the  bannisters,  in  a  musing  attitude.  As  soon 
as  he  saw  us,  his  countenance  lighted  up  with  a  joyful  animation, 
and  he  offered  his  arm  to  Margaret  with  eager  gallantry.  I 
wondered  I  had  not  discovered  before  how  very  good  looking 
he  was.  Never,  till  he  visited  us  in  New  York,  had  I  thought 
of  him  but  as  an  awkward,  rather  homely  gentleman.  Now 
his  smile  was  quite  beautiful,  and  as  I  accompanied  them  into 
the  drawing-room,  I  thought  they  were  quite  a  splendid-looking 
pair.  Mrs.  Linwood  was  in  the  front  room,  which  was  quite 
fiJied  with  guests  and  now  illuminated  for  the  night. 

"  Not  now,"  I  heard  Margaret  whisper,  drawing  back  a  little  j 
"  wait  a  few  moments." 
24 


372  ERNEST    LINWOOD. 

w  Oh !  it  will  be  all  over  in  a  second,"  said  he,  taking  her 
hand  and  leading  her  up  to  Mrs.  Linwood,  who  raised  her  eyes 
with  surprise  at  the  unwonted  ceremony  of  their  approach,  and 
the  blushing  trepidation  of  Margaret's  manner. 

"  Permit  me  to  introduce  Mrs.  Regulus,"  said  he,  with  a  low 
bow ;  and  though  he  reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  he  looked 
round  with  a  smiling  and  triumphant  glance.  Margaret  curt- 
sied with  mock  humility  down  to  the  ground,  then  breaking 
loose  from  his  hand,  she  burst  into  one  of  her  Madge  Wildfire 
laughs,  and  attempted  to  escape  from  the  room.  But  she  was 
intercepted  by  Dr.  Harlowe,  who  caught  her  by  the  arm  and 
kissed  her  with  audible  good-will,  declaring  it  was  a  physician's 
fee.  The  announcement  of  the  marriage  was  received  with 
acclamation  and  clapping  of  hands.  You  should  have  heard 
Edith  laugh ;  it  was  like  the  chime  of  silvery  bells.  It  was 
so  astonishing  she  could  not,  would  not  believe  it.  It  was  ex 
actly  like  one  of  Meg's  wild  pranks  to  play  such  a  farce. 
But  it  was  a  solemn  truth.  Margaret,  the  bride  of  the  morning, 
became  the  presiding  queen  of  the  evening ;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  the  lonely  occupant  of  the  library,  how  gaily  and  happily 
the  hours  would  have  flown  by.  How  must  the  accents  of 
mirth  that  echoed  through  the  hall  torture,  if  they  reached  his 
morbid  and  sensitive  ear !  If  I  could  only  go  to  him  and  tell 
him  the  cause  of  the  unwonted  merriment ;  but  I  dared  not  do 
it.  It  would  be  an  infringement  of  the  sacredness  of  his  expia- 
tory vow.  He  would  know  it,  however,  at  the  supper  table; 
but  no  !  he  did  not  appear  at  the  supper  table.  He  sent  a 
message  to  his  mother,  that  he  did  not  wish  any,  and  the  hos- 
pitable board  was  filled  without  him. 

-  "  I  can  hardly  forgive  you,  Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood, 
"  for  not  giving  us  an  opportunity  of  providing  a  wedding  feast. 
How  much  better  it  would  have  been  to  have  had  the  golden 
ring  and  fatted  calf  of  welcome,  than  this  plain,  every-day 
meal." 

"  Your  every-day  meals  are  better  than  usual  wedding  feasts," 
replied  Margaret,  "  and  I  do  not  see  why  one  should  eat  more 
on  such  an  occasion  than  any  other.  You  know  /care  nothing 


ERNEST     LINWOOD  373 

for  the  good  things  of  this  life,  though  Mr.  Regulus  may  be  dis- 
appointed." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Mr.  Regulus,  blushing.  u  I 
think  so  little  of  what  I  eat  and  drink,  I  can  hardly  tell  the  dif- 
ference between  tea  and  coffee." 

This  was  literally  true,  and  many  a  trick  had  been  played 
upon  him  at  his  boarding  place  while  seated  at  his  meals,  with 
an  open  book  at  the  left  side  of  his  plate,  and  his  whole  mmJ 
engaged  in  its  contents. 

"  Mrs.  Regulus,"  said  Dr.  Harlowe,  giving  due  accent  to  her 
new  name,  "  is,  as  every  one  must  perceive,  one  of  those  ethereal 
beings  who  care  for  nothing  more  substantial  than  beefsteak, 
plum-pudding,  and  mince-pie.  Perhaps  an  airy  slice  of  roast 
turkey  might  also  tempt  her  abstemiousness !  " 

"  Take  care,  Doctor,  —  I  have  some  one  to  protect  me  now 
against  your  lawless  tongue,"  cried  Madge,  with  inimitable  good- 
humor. 

"  Come  and  dine  with  us  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  prove  my 
words  a  libel,  if  you  please.  I  cannot  say  that  my  wife  will  be 
able  to  give  you  any  thing  better  than  Mi's.  Lin  wood's  poor 
fare,  but  it  shall  be  sweetened  by  a  heart-warm  welcome,  and  we 
will  drink  the  health  of  the  bonny  bride  in  a  glass  of  ruby 
wine ! " 

And  was  it  possible  that  no  note  was  taken  of  the  strange 
absence  of  the  master  of  the  table  ?  Was  it  no  check  to  social 
joy  and  convivial  pleasure  ?  It  undoubtedly  was,  in  the  first  place  ; 
but  Margaret's  exhilarating  presence  neutralized  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  his  absence  on  the  spirits  of  the  guests.  The  occasion, 
too,  was  so  unexpected,  so  inspiring,  that  even  I,  sad  and 
troubled  as  I  was,  could  not  help  yielding  in  some  degree  to  its 
gladdening  influence. 

After  supper  I  had  a  long  and  delightful  conversation  with  my 
metamorphosed  preceptor.  He  spoke  of  his  marriage  with  all 
the  ingenuousness  and  simplicity  of  a  child.  He  thanked  me 
for  having  told  him,  when  I  parted  from  him  in  New  York, 
that  he  had  an  influence  over  Margaret  that  he  had  not 
dreamed  of  possessing.  It  made  him,  he  said,  more  observant 


874  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

of  her,  and  more  careful  of  himself,  till  he  reaily  found  her  a 
pleasant  study.  And  somehow,  when  he  had  returned  to  hia 
country  home,  it  seemed  dull  without  her ;  and  he  found  himself 
thinking  of  her,  and  then  writing  to  her,  and  then  going  to  see 
her,  —  till,  to  his  astonishment,  he  found  himself  a  lover  and  a 
husband.  His  professorship,  too,  happened  to  come  at  the  ex- 
act moment,  for  it  emboldened  him  with  hopes  of  success  he 
could  not  have  cherished  as  a  village  teacher. 

"  How  the  wild  creature  happened  to  love  me,  a  grave,  un- 
gainly pedagogue,  I  cannot  divine,"  he  added ;  "  but  if  grati- 
tude, tenderness,  and  the  most  implicit  confidence  in  her  truth 
and  affection  can  make  her  happy,  she  shall  never  regret  her 
heart's  choice." 

Confidence  did  he  say  ?     Happy,  thrice  happy  Margaret  I 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

IT  was  an  evening  of  excitement.  Edith  sang,  and  Mar- 
garet played  some  of  her  elfin  strains,  and  Mr.  Regulus  made 
music  leap  joyously  from  the  sounding  violin.  There  was  one 
in  the  lonely  library  who  might  have  made  sweeter  music  than 
all,  whose  spirit's  chords  were  all  jangled  and  tuneless,  and 
whose  ear  seemed  closed  to  the  concord  of  melodious  sounds. 
My  soul  was  not  tuned  to  harmony  now,  but  still  there  was 
something  soothing  in  its  influence,  and  it  relieved  me  from  the 
necessity  of  talking,  the  exertion  of  seeming  what  I  could  not  be. 
It  was  a  luxury  to  glide  unnoticed  on  the  stream  of  thought, 
though  dark  the  current,  and  leading  into  troubled  waters.  It 
was  a  luxury  to  tnink  that  the  sighs  of  the  heart  might  breathe 
unheard  in  the  midst  of  the  soft  rolling  waves  of  Edith's  mel- 
ody, or  the  dashing  billows  of  Margaret's.  Sometimes  when  I 
imagined  myself  entirely  unobserved,  and  suffered  the  cloud  of 
sadness  that  brooded  over  my  spirits  to  float  outwards,  if  I  ac- 
cidentally raised  my  eyes,  I  met  those  of  Richard  Clyde  fixed 
on  me  with  an  expression  of  such  intense  and  thrilling  sympa- 
thy, I  would  start  with  a  vague  consciousness  of  guilt  for  hav- 
ing elicited  such  expressive  glances. 

Madge  was  playing  as  only  Madge  could  play,  and  Edith 
standing  near  the  door  that  opened  into  the  saloon  in  the  front 
parlor.  She  looked  unusually  pale,  and  her  countenance  was 
languid.  "Was  she  thinking  of  Julian,  the  young  artist  at  the 
Falls,  and  wondering  if  the  brief  romance  of  their  love  were 
indeed  a  dream  ?  All  at  once  a  change,  quick  as  the  electric 
flash,  parsed  over  her  face.  A  bright,  rosy  cloud  rolled  over  its 
pallor,  like  morning  breaking  in  Alpine  snows.  Even  the  paly 

'876) 


876  ERNEST     L  I  N  W  O  O  D  . 

gold  of  her  hair  seemed  to  catch  the  glory  that  so  suddenly  and 
absolutely  illumined  her.  She  was  looking  into  the  saloon,  and 
I  followed  the  direction  of  her  kindling  eyes.  Julian  was  at 
that  moment  crossing  the  threshold.  She  had  seen  him  as- 
cending the  steps,  and  her  heart  sprang  forth  to  meet  him.  I 
saw  her  hesitate,  look  round  for  her  mother,  who  was  not  near 
her,  then,  while  the  rosy  cloud  deepened  to  crimson,  she  floated 
into  the  saloon. 

I  went  to  Mrs.  Limvood,  who  was  in  the  back  parlor,  to  tell 
her  of  the  arrival  of  the  new  guest.  She  started  and  changed 
color.  His  coming  was  the  seal  of  Edith's  destiny.  "  I  will 
not  come,"  he  had  said  to  her  in  parting,  "  till  I  can  bring 
abundant  testimonials  of  my  spotless  lineage  and  irreproacha- 
ble reputation." 

I  had  drawn  her  apart  from  the  company,  expecting  she 
would  be  agitated  by  the  annunciation. 

"  Should  not  Ernest  know  of  this  ?  "  I  asked.  "  He  did  not 
abjure  all  the  rites  of  hospitality.  Oh,  for  Edith's  sake,  tell 
him  of  Julian's  arrival,  and  entreat  him  to  come  forth  and  wel- 
come him." 

"  I  have  been  to  him  once  and  urged  him  to  greet  Mr.  Regu- 
lus,  and  merely  offer  him  the  usual  congratulations  on  his  mar- 
riage, but  he  persistingly  refused.  I  fear  he  is  killing  himself 
by  this  spirit-scourging  vow.  iTiever  saw  him  look  so  pale  and 
wretched  as  he  does  to-night.  I  dread  more  and  more  the  con- 
sequences of  this  self-inflicted  martyrdom." 

As  I  looked  up  in  Mrs.  Linwood's  face,  on  which  the  light 
of  the  chandelier  resplendently  shone,  I  observed  lines  of  care 
on  her  smooth  brow,  which  were  not  there  two  weeks  before. 
The  engraver  was  doing  his  work  delicately,  secretly,  but  he  was 
at  work,  and  it  was  Ernest's  hand  that  guided  the  steel  as  it  left 
its  deepening  grooves. 

"  O  !  that  I  dared  to  go  to  him  ! "  said  I ;  "  may  I,  dear 
mother?  I  can  but  be  denied.  I  will  speak  to  him  as  a  friend, 
coMly  if  it  must  be,  but  let  me  speak  to  him.  He  can  but  bid 
me  leave  him." 

"  You  too,  my  darling,"  said  she,  in  a  low,  sad-toned  voice, 


ERXEST     LINWOOD  377 

"  you  are  wilting  like  a  flower  deprived  of  sunshine  and  dew. 
But  go.  Take  this  key.  He  locks  himself  within,  and  all  you 
can  do  he  will  not  grant  admittance.  The  only  way  is  to  use 
this  pass-key,  which  you  must  return  to  me.  I  must  go  and 
welcome  Julian." 

She  put  the  key  in  my  hand,  and  turned  away  with  a  sigh.  I 
trembled  at  my  own  audacity.  I  had  never  forced  myself  into 
his  presence,  for  the  dullness  of  his  vow  was  upon  me,  and  the 
hand  that  would  have  removed  the  icy  barrier  he  had  raised 
between  us  was  numbed  by  its  coldness. 

The  way  that  led  to  the  library  was  winding,  sweeping  by 
the  lofty  staircase,  and  terminating  in  a  kind  of  picture  gallery. 
Some  of  these  were  relics  of  the  old  Italian  masters,  and  their 
dark,  rich  coloring  came  out  in  the  lamp  light  with  gloomy  splen- 
dor. I  had  seen  them  a  hundred  times,  but  never  had  they  im- 
pressed me  with  such  lurid  grandeur  as  now.  One  by  one,  the 
dark  lines  started  on  the  canvas  glowing  with  strange  life,  and 
standing  out  in  bold,  sublime  relief.  I  hurried  by  them  and 
Blood  in  front  of  the  library  door  with  the  key  trembling  in  my 
hand.  I  heard  no  sound  within.  All  was  still  as  death.  Per- 
haps, exhausted  by  his  lonely  vigils,  he  slept,  and  it  would  be 
cruel  to  awaken  him.  Perhaps  he  would  frown  on  me  in  an- 
ger, for  not  respecting  the  sanctity  of  his  vow.  I  had  seen 
him  at  noon,  but  he  did  not  speak  or  look  at  me ;  and  as  his 
mother  said,  he  had  never  appeared  so  pale,  so  heart-worn,  and 
so  wretched.  He  was  evidently  ill  and  suffering,  though  to  his 
mother's  anxious  inquiries  he  declared  himself  well,  perfectly 
well.  There  was  one  thing  which  made  me  glad.  The  gay, 
mingling  laughs,  the  sounds  of  social  joy,  of  music  and  mirth, 
came  so  softened  through  the  long  winding  avenue,  that  they 
broke  against  the  library  in  a  soft,  murmuring  wave  that  could 
not  be  heard  within. 

AVLy  did  I  stand  trembling  and  irresolute,  as  if  I  had  no 
riijht  to  penetrate  that  lonely  apartment  ?  He  was  my  husband, 
end  a  wife's  agonized  solicitude  had  drawn  me  to  him.  If  ho 
repulsed  me,  I  could  but  turn  away  and  weep;  —  and  waa 
uot  my  pillow  wet  with  nightly  tears? 


878  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

Softly  I  turned  the  key,  and  the  door  opened,  as  if  touch- 
ed cy  invisible  hands.  He  did  not  hear  me, —  I  know  he  did 
not, — for  he  sat  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  on  a  window 
seat,  leaning  back  against  the  drapery  of  the  curtain  that  fell 
darkly  behind  him.  His  face  was  turned  towards  the  window, 
through  whose  parted  damask  the  starry  night  looked  in.  But 
though  his  face  was  partially  turned  from  me,  I  could  see  its 
contour  and  its  hue  as  distinctly  as  those  of  the  marble  busts 
that  surrounded  him.  He  looked  scarcely  less  hueless  and  cold, 
and  his  hand,  that  lay  embedded  in  his  dark  wavy  hair,  gleamed 
white  and  transparent  as  alabaster.  I  stood  just  within  the 
door,  with  suspended  breath  and  wildly  palpitating  heart,  pray- 
ing for  courage  to  break  the  spell  that  bound  me  to  the  spot 
All  my  strength  was  gone.  I  felt  myself  a  guilty  intruder  in 
that  scene  of  self-humiliation,  penance,  and  prayer.  Though 
reason  condemned  his  conduct,  and  mourned  over  his  infatua- 
tion, the  holiness  of  his  purpose  shone  around  him  and  sancti- 
fied him  from  ridicule  and  contempt.  There  was  something 
pure,  spiritual,  almost  unearthly  in  his  countenance ;  but  suffer 
ing  and  languor  cast  a  shadow  over  it,  that  appealed  to  humni 
sympathy. 

If  he  would  only  move,  only  turn  towards  me !  The  Israel 
ites,  at  the  foot  of  the  cloud-girdled  mount,  whose  fiery  zone 
they  were  forbidden  to  pass,  could  scarcely  have  felt  more  awe 
and  dread  than  I  did,  strange  and  weak  as  it  may  seem.  I 
moved  nearer,  still  more  near,  till  my  shadow  fell  upon  him. 
Then  he  started  and  rose  to  his  feet,  and  looked  upon  me,  like 
one  suddenly  awakened  from  a  deep  sleep. 

"  Gabriella  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Oh !  I  cannot  describe  the  inexpressible  softness,  tenderness, 
and  music  of  his  accent.  It  was  as  if  the  whole  heart  were 
melting  inlo  that  single  word.  All  my  preconceived  resolu- 
tions vanished,  all  coldness,  alienation,  and  constraint.  "  I  had 
found  him  whom  my  soul  loved."  My  arms  were  twined 
around  him,  —  I  was  clasped  to  his  bosom  with  the  most  pas- 
sionate emotion,  and  the  hearts  so  violently  wrenched  asunder 
once  more  throbbed  against  each  other. 


EKN158T     LIN  WOOD.  879 

u  Ernest,  beloved  Ernest  1 " 

"  Temptress,  sorceress ! "  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  pushing  me 
from  him  with  frenzied  gesture,  —  "  you  have  come  to  destroy 
my  soul,  —  I  have  broken  my  solemn  vow,  —  I  have  incurred 
the  vengeance  of  Almighty  God.  Peace  was  flowing  over  me 
like  a  river,  but  now  all  the  waves  and  billows  of  passion  are 
gone  over  me.  I  sink,  —  I  perish,  and  you,  you,  —  Gabriella, 
it  is  you  who  plunge  me  in  the  black  abyss  of  perjury  and 
guilt." 

I  was  terrified  at  the  dark  despair  that  settled  on  his  brow. 
I  feared  his  reason  was  forsaking  him,  and  that  I,  in  my  rash- 
ness, had  accelerated  his  doom. 

"  Do  not,  do  not  talk  so  dreadfully,  Ernest.  Forgive  me, 
if  I  have  done  wrong  in  coming.  Forgive  me,  if  for  one  mo- 
ment I  recalled  you  to  the  tenderness  you  have  so  long  abjured. 
But  mine  is  the  offence,  and  mine  be  the  sorrow.  Do  not,  I 
pray  you,  blame  yourself  so  cruelly  for  my  transgression,  if  it 
indeed  be  one.  Oh,  Ernest,  how  pale,  how  wretched  you  look ! 
You  are  killing  yourself  and  me,  —  your  mother  too.  We 
cannot  live  in  this  state  of  alienation.  The  time  of  your  vow  is 
only  half  expired,  —  only  twenty  days  are  past,  and  they  seem 
twenty  years  of  woe.  Dear  Ernest,  you  are  tempting  God  by 
this.  One  tear  of  penitence,  one  look  of  faith,  one  prayer  to 
Christ  for  mercy,  are  worth  more  than  years  of  penance  and 
lonely  torture.  Revoke  this  rash  vow.  Come  back  to  us,  my 
Ernest,  —  come  down  from  the  wilderness,  leave  the  desolate 
places  of  despair,  and  come  where  blessings  wait  you.  Your 
mother  waits  to  bless  you, —  Edith  waits  you  to  greet  and  wel- 
come her  Julian,  —  Margaret,  a  happy  bride,  waits  your 
friendly  congratulations.  Come,  and  disperse  by  your  presence 
the  shadow  that  rests  on  the  household." 

"  Would  you  indeed  counsel  me  to  break  a  solemn  vow,  Ga- 
briella ?     It  may  have  been  rash  ;  but  it  was  a  vow  ;  and  were 
I  to  break  it,  I  should  feel  forever  dishonored  in  the  sight  o 
God  and  man." 

"Which,  think  you,  had  more  weight  when  placed  in  the 
scales  of  eternal  justice,  Herod's  c^sh  vow,  or  the  life  of  the  holy 


380 


ERNEST      I.  INWOOD. 


prophet  sacrificed  to  fulfil  it  ?  0  Ernest !  —  wild,  impulsive 
words  forced  from  the  lips  of  passion  should  never  be  made 
guides  of  action.  It  is  wrong,  I  know,  to  speak  unwisely  and 
madly,  but  doubly,  trebly  wrong  to  act  so." 

As  thus  1  pleaded  and  reasoned  and  entreated,  I  kept  my 
earnest  gaze  on  his  face,  and  eagerly  watched,  —  watched  with 
trembling  hope  and  fear  the  effect  of  my  words.  I  had  drawn 
back  from  him  as  far  as  the  width  of  the  library,  and  my  hands 
were  clasped  together  and  pressed  upon  my  bosom.  I  did  not 
know  that  I  stood  directly  beneath  the  picture  of  the  Italian 
flower-girl,  till  I  saw  his  glance  uplifted  from  my  face  to  hers, 
with  an  expression  that  recalled  the  morning  when  he  found 
me  gazing  on  her  features,  in  all  the  glow  of  youth,  love,  joy, 
and  hope.  Then  I  remembered  how  he  had  scattered  my  rose 
leaves  beneath  his  feet,  and  what  a  prophetic  sadness  had  then 
shaded  my  spirits. 

"  Alas  !  my  poor  Gabriella,"  he  cried,  looking  down  from  the 
picture  to  me.  with  an  expression  of  the  tenderest  compassion  ; 
"  Alas,  my  flower-girl !  how  have  I  wilted  your  blooming  youth  I 
You  are  pale,  my  girl,  and  sad,  —  that  bewitching  smile  no  lon- 
ger parts  your  glowing  lips.  Would  to  God  I  had  never  crossed 
your  path  of  roses  with  my  withering  footsteps!  Would  to  God 
I  had  never  linked  your  young,  confiding  heart  to  mine,  so 
blasted  by  suspicion,  so  consumed  by  jealousy's  baleful  fires ! 
Yet,  Heaven  knows  I  meant  to  make  you  happy.  I  meant  to 
watch  over  you  as  tenderly  as  the  mother  over  her  new-born  in- 
fant,—  as  holily  as  the  devotee  over  the  shrine  of  the  saint  he 
adores.  How  faithless  I  have  been  to  this  guardian.-hip  of 
love,  you  know  too  well.  I  have  been  a  madman,  a  monster, — 
you  know  I  have,  —  worthy  of  eternal  detestation.  But  you 
have  not  suffered  alone.  Remorse  —  unquenchable  fire ;  re- 
mor.-e  —  undying  worm,  avenges  every  pang  I  have  inflicted  on 
you.  Remorse  goaded  me  to  desperation,  —  desperation  prompt- 
ed the  expiatory  vow.  It  must  be  fulfilled,  or  I  shall  forfeit  my 
self-respect,  my  honor,  and  truth.  But  I  shall  be  better,  stronger, 
—  I  feel  I  shall,  after  passing  this  stern  ordeal.  It  will  soon  bo 


ERNEST     LINTTOOD.  381 

orer.  and  I  have  a  confidence  so  firm  that  it  has  the  strength  of 
conviction,  that  in  this  lonely  conflict  with  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness I  shall  come  off  conqueror,  through  God's  assisting  angels." 

He  spoke  with  fervor,  and  his  countenance  lighted  up  with 
enthusiasm.  Bodily  weakness  and  languor  had  disappeared, 
and  his  transparent  cheek  glowed  with  the  excitement  of  his 
feelings. 

"  If  you  are  really  thus  supported  by  divine  enthusiasm,"  I 
said,  with  an  involuntary  kindling  of  admiration,  "  perhaps  I 
ought  to  submit  in  silence,  where  I  cannot  understand.  Forgive 
me  before  I  leave  you,  Ernest,  this  rash  intrusion.  We  may 
forgive  even  our  enemies." 

"  Forgive,  Gabriella !  Oh  !  if  you  knew  the  flood  of  joy  and 
rapture  that  for  one  moment  deluged  my  soul !  I  dare  not 
recall  it.  Forgive,  O  my  God  ! " 

He  turned  away,  covered  his  face  with  his  left  hand,  and 
made  a  repelling  gesture  with  the  other.  I  understood  the 
motion,  and  obeyed  it. 

"  Farewell,  Ernest,"  said  I,  slowly  retreating  ;  "  may  angels 
minister  to  you  and  bear  up  your  spirit  on  their  wings  of 
love  ! " 

I  looked  back,  on  the  threshold,  and  met  his  glance  then 
turned  towards  me.  Had  I  been  one  of  the  angels  I  invoked,  it 
could  not  have  been  more  adoring. 

And  thus  we  parted ;  and  when  I  attempted  to  describe  the 
interview  to  his  mother,  I  wept  and  sobbed  as  if  I  had  been 
paying  a  visit  to  his  grave.  And  yet  I  was  glad  that  I  had 
been,  glad  that  I  had  bridged  the  gulf  that  separated  us,  though 
but  momentarily. 

Perhaps  some  may  smile  at  this  record.  I  have  no  doubt 
they  will,  and  pronounce  the  character  of  Ernest  unnatural 
and  impossible.  But  in  all  his  idiosyncrasy,  he  is  the  Ernest 
Linwood  of  Grandison  Place,  just  such  as  I  have  delineated 
him,  just  such  as  I  knew  and  loved.  I  know  that  there  are 
scenes  that  have  seemed,  that  will  seem,  overwrought,  and  I 
Lave  often  been  tempted  to  throw  down  the  pen,  regretting  the 
task  I  have  undertaken.  But,  were  we  permitted  to  steal  be- 


882  ERNEST     L  IX  WOOD. 

hind  the  scenes  of  many  a  life  drama,  what  startling  discoveries 
would  we  make !  Reality  goes  beyond  the  wildest  imaginings 
of  romance,  —  beyond  the  majestic  sweep  of  human  genius. 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  imagination  conceived, 
the  wild  extent  to  which  the  passions  of  man  may  go.  The 
empire  of  passion  is  veiled,  and  its  battle  ground  is  secret 
Who  beheld  the  interview  in  the  library,  which  I  have  just 
described  ?  Who  saw  him  kneeling  at  his  mother's  feet  at  the 
midnight  hour  ?  Or  who  witnessed  our  scenes  of  agony  and 
reconciliation  in  the  palace  walls  of  our  winter  home  ?  Ah ! 
the  world  sees  only  the  surface  of  the  great  deep  of  the  heart. 
It  has  never  plunged  into  the  innermost  -main,  —  never  beheld 
the  seething  and  the  rolling  of  the  unfathomable  mystery :  — 

"  And  where  is  the  diver  so  stoat  to  go,  — 
I  ask  ye  again  —  to  the  deep  below  ?  " 

Well  do  I  remember  the  thrilling  legend  of  the  roaring 
whirlpools,  the  golden  goblet,  and  the  dauntUss  diver,  and  well 
do  I  read  its  meaning. 

O  Ernest !  I  have  cast  the  golden  goblet  of  happiness  intf 
a  maelstrom,  and  he  alone,  who  walked  u*>sinking  the  wave* 
of  Galilee,  can  bring  back  the  lost  treasure  from  the  dark  and 
lx>iling  vortex. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

JULIAN  was  worthy  of  Edith.  His  parentage  was  honoralla 
and  pure,  his  connections  irreproachable,  and  his  own  character 
noble  and  unblemished.  Reason  could  oppose  no  obstacle,  and 
the  young  artist  was  received  into  the  family  as  the  betrothed 
of  the  lovely  lame  girl. 

The  romantic  idea  which  had  suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  that 
he  might  be  the  son  of  Theresa  and  my  own  half-brother,  had 
vanished  before  the  testimonies  of  his  birth.  Another  day- 
dream too.  I  had  always  looked  forward  to  the  hour  when 
Richard  would  transfer  his  affections  to  Edith,  and  be  rewarded 
by  her  love  for  his  youthful  disappointment.  But  she  was 
destined  to  reign  in  undivided  sovereignty  over  a  heart  that  had 
never  been  devoted  to  another ;  to  be  loved  with  all  the  fervor 
of  passion  and  all  the  enthusiasm  of  genius. 

It  was  the  day  of  social  gathering  at  Dr.  Harlowe's ;  but  I 
remained  at  home.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  be  missed  from  the 
circle  in  which  Madge,  in  bridal  charms,  sparkled  a  ruby  gem, 
and  the  fairer  Edith  shone,  a  living  pearl.  Though  scarcely 
one  year  a  wife,  the  discipline  of  my  wedded  experience  had  so 
chastened  and  subdued  me,  I  seemed  to  myself  quite  a  matron, 
beside  those  on  whom  the  morning  glow  of  love  and  hope  were 
beaming.  Madge  and  Edith  were  both  older  than  myself,  and 
yet  I  had  begun  to  live  far  earlier. 

In  the  later  part  of  the  day,  Mrs.  Linwood,  who  had  also 
remained  at  home,  asked  me  to  accompany  her  in  a  ride.  She 
wished  to  visit  several  who  were  sick  and  afflicted,  and  I  always 
felt  it  a  privilege  to  be  her  companion. 

"  Will  you  object  to  calling  here  ?  "  she  asked,  when  we  ap 

1383) 


884  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

preached  the  old  gray  cottage,  once  iny  mother's  home  and  my 
own.  "  There  is  a  sick  woman  here,  whom  I  wish  to  see.  You 
can  walk  about  the  green  skirting  the  woods,  if  you  prefer. 
This  enchanting  breeze  will  give  new  life  to  your  body  and 
new  brightness  to  your  spirits." 

I  thanked  her  for  the  permission,  knowing  well  the  kind  re- 
gard to  my  feelings  which  induced  her  to  give  it.  She  knew 
sad  memories  must  hang  around  the  apartments  where  my 
mother  and  the  faithful  Peggy  had  suffered  and  died  ;  and  that  it 
would  be  a  trial  to  me  to  see  strangers  occupying  the  places  so 
hallowed  by  association. 

Time  had  been  at  work  on  that  old  cottage,  with  its  noise- 
less but  effacing  fingers.  And  its  embroidering  fingers  too,  for 
the  roof  from  which  many  a  shingle  had  fallen,  was  green  with 
garlands  of  moss,  wrought  into  the  damp  and  mouldering  wood 
with  exquisite  grace  and  skill.  I  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and 
beheld  infancy  by  the  side  of  the  humble  ruin,  the  oriental 
palace  which  was  my  bridal  home,  and  wondered  at  the  mar- 
vellous changes  of  life. 

I  wandered  to  the  welling  spring  by  whose  gushing  waters 
I  had  so  often  sat,  indulging  the  wild  poetry  of  my  childish 
imagination.  I  gazed  around,  scarcely  recognizing  the  once 
enchanting  spot.  A  stone  had  literally  rolled  against  the  mouth 
of  the  fountain,  and  the  crystal  diamonds  no  longer  sparkled  in 
the  basin  below.  An  awkward  pump,  put  up  near  the  cabin, 
explained  this  appearance  of  neglect  and  wildness.  The  soft 
grassy  slope  where  I  used  to  recline  and  watch  the  fountain's 
silvery  play,  was  overgrown  with  tall,  rank,  rustling  weeds, 
among  which  I  could  distinguish  the  deadly  bloom  and  sick- 
ening odor  of  the  nightshade.  There  was  a  rock  covered  with 
the  brightest,  richest  covering  of  dark  green  moss,  on  which  I 
seated  myself,  and  gave  myself  up  to  the  memories  of  the  past. 
Perhaps  this  was  the  same  rock  on  which  Richard  Clyde  and 
I  had  often  sat  side  by  side,  and  watched  the  shadows  of  twi- 
light purple  the  valley. 

I  untied  my  bonnet  and  laid  it  on  the  long  grass,  for  I  was 
ehaded  from  the  western  sun,  and  the  breeze  blew  fresh  and 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  385 

pure  from  the  hills  he  was  about  to  crown  with  a  right  royal 
diadem.  While  I  thus  sat,  I  heard  footsteps  quick  and  eager 
echoing  behind,  and  Richard  Clyde  bounded  down  the  slope 
and  threw  himself  on  the  ground  at  my  side. 

"  Thank  heaven,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have  found  you,  Gabri- 
ella,  and  found  you  alone  !  " 

His  manner  was  hurried  and  agitated,  his  eyes  had  a  wild 
expression,  and  tossing  aside  his  hat,  he  wiped  thick-coming 
drops  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

His  words,  and  the  unusual  excitement  of  his  manner,  alarmed 
me. 

"  What  has  happened,  Richard  ?  Where  have  you  sought 
me?  What  tidings  have  you  to  communicate?  Speak,  and 
tell  me,  for  I  tremble  with  fear." 

"  I  am  so  agitated,"  he  cried,  sitting  down  on  the  rock  at  my 
side,  and  taking  one  of  my  hands  in  his.  I  started,  for  his  was 
•o  icy  cold  and  tremulous,  and  his  face  was  as  pale  as  Ernest's. 
He  looked  like  one  who  bad  escaped  some  terrible  danger,  and 
MJ  whose  bosom  horror  and  gratitude  were  struggling  for  mas- 
>ery. 

"  Is  it  of  Ernest  you  have  come  to  tell  me  ?  "  I  asked,  with 
Blanched  lips. 

"  No,  no,  no !  I  know  nothing  of  him.  It  is  of  myself,  — 
of  you,  I  would  speak.  I  have  just  made  the  most  astonishing 
discovery !  Never  till  now  have  I  heard  your  real  name  and 
early  history.  O !  Gabriella  you  whom  I  have  loved  so  long 
with  such  fervor,  such  passion,  such  idolatry,  —  you  (O  right- 
eous God  forgive  me !)  are  the  daughter  of  my  father,  —  for 
Theresa  La  Fontaine  was  my  own  mother.  Gabriella,  —  sis- 
ter, —  beloved ! " 

He  clasped  me  to  his  bosom  ;  he  kissed  me  again  and  again, 
weeping  and  sobbing  like  a  child.  In  broken  words  he  deplored 
his  sinful  passion,  entreating  me  to  forgive  him,  to  love  him  as 
a  brother,  to  cling  to  him  as  a  friend,  and  feel  that  there  was 
one  who  would  live  to  protect,  or  die  to  defend  me.  Bewildered 
and  enraptured  by  this  most  unthought  of  and  astounding  dis- 
covery, my  heart  acknowledged  its  truth  and  glowed  with  grati- 


386  ERNEST     LINW001 

tude  and  joy.  Richard,  the  noble-hearted,  gallant  Richard,  was 
my  brother !  My  soul's  desire  was  satisfied. .  How  I  had 
yearned  for  a  brother !  and  to  find  him,  —  and  such  a  brother  ! 
Oh  !  joy  unspeakable.  Oh  !  how  strange,  —  how  passing 
strange,  —  how  almost  passing  credulity  ! 

At  any  moment  this  discovery  would  have  been  welcomed 
•with  rapture.  But  now,  when  the  voluntary  estrangement  of 
Ernest  had  thrown  my  warm  affections  back  for  the  time  into 
my  own  bosom,  to  pine  for  want  of  cherishing,  it  came  like  a 
burst  of  sunshine  after  a  long  and  dreary  darkness,  —  like  the 
music  of  gushing  waters  to  the  feverish  and  thirsty  pilgrim. 

My  heart  was  too  full  for  questions,  and  his  for  explanations. 
They  would  come  in  due  time.  He  was  my  brother,  —  that  was 
enough.  Ernest  could  not  be  jealous  of  a  brother's  love.  He 
would  own  with  pride  the  fraternal  bond,  and  forget  the  father's 
crimes  in. the  son's  virtues. 

It  seemed  but  a  moment  since  Richard  had  called  me  sister. 
Neither  of  us  had  spoken,  for  tears  choked  our  words ;  but  our 
arms  were  still  entwined,  and  my  head  rested  on  his  bosom,  in 
all  the  abandonment  of  nature's  holiest  feelings.  All  at  once  1 
beard  a  rustling  in  the  grass,  soft  and  stealthy  like  a  gliding 
Baake.  I  raised  my  head,  looked  back,  looked  up. 

Merciful  Father  of  heaven  and  earth !  did  I  not  then  pass 
the  agonies  of  death  ? 

I  saw  a  face,  —  my  God !  how  dark,  how  deadly,  how  terrible 
it  was  !  I  knew  that  face,  and  my  heart  was  rifted  as  if  by  a 
thunderbolt. 

The  loud  report  of  a  pistol,  and  a  shriek  such  as  never  be- 
fore issued  from  mortal  lips,  bursting  from  mine,  were  simul- 
taneous sounds.  Richard  fell  back  with  a  deep  groan.  Then 
there  seemed  a  rushing  sound  as  the  breaking  up  of  the  grea1: 
deep,  a  heaving  and  tossing  like  the  throes  of  an  earthquake  ; 
then  a  sinking,  sinking,  lower  and  lower,  and  then  a  cloud  black 
as  night  and  heavy  as  iron  came  lowering  and  crushing  me,  — 
me,  and  the  bleeding  Richard.  All  was  darkness,  —  silence, 
—  oblivion. 


CHAPTER    L. 

A  T.tonT,  soft  and  glimmering  as  morning  twilight,  floated 
round  me.  Was  it  the  dawn  of  an  eternal  morning,  or  the  lin- 
gering radiance  of  life's  departing  day  ?  Did  my  spirit  ani- 
mate the  motionless  body  extended  on  that  snowy  bed,  or  was 
it  hovering,  faint  and  invisible,  above  the  confines  of  mortality  ? 

I  was  just  awakened  to  the  consciousness  of  existence, —  a 
dim,  vague  consciousness,  such  as  one  feels  in  a  dissolving  dreanu 
I  seemed  involved  in  a  white,  transparent  cloud,  and  reclining 
on  one  of  those  downy-looking  cloud-beds  that  I  have  seen  wait- 
ing to  receive  the  sinking  sun. 

While  thus  I  lav,  living  the  dawning  life  of  infancy,  the 
white  rV>tid  softly  rolled  on  one  side,  and  a  figure  appeared  in 
the  opening,  that  belonged  to  a  previous  state  of  existence.  I 
had  «een  its  mild  lineaments  in  another  world;  but  when, — 
hovf  long  ago  ? 

My  eyes  rested  on  the  features  of  the  lady  till  they  grew 
more  and  more  familiar,  but  there  was  a  white  cloud  round  her 
*ace,  that  threw  a  mournful  shadow  over  it, —  that  I  had  nevei 
seen  before.  Again  my  eyelids  closed,  and  I  seemed  passing 
away,  where,  I  knew  not  ;  yet  consciousness  remained.  I  felt 
soft,  trembling  kisses  breathed  upon  my  face,  and  tears  too, 
mingling  with  their  balm.  With  a  delicious  perception  of  ten- 
derness, watchfulness,  and  love,  I  sunk  into  a  deep,  deep 
sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  the  silver  lustre  of  an  astral  lamp,  shaded 

by  a  screen,  glimmered   in  the   apartment  and  quivered   like 

moonbeams  in   the   white    drapery   that  curtained  the  bed.     I 

knew  where  I  was,  —  I  was  in  my  own  chamber,  and  the  lady 

25  («W) 


888  ERNEST     L  I  N  \V  O  O  D  . 

who  sat  by  my  bedside,  and  whose  profile  I  beheld  through  the 
parted  folds  of  the  curtains,  was  Mrs.  Lmwcod.  And  yet,  how 
strange !  It  must  have  been  years  since  we  had  met,  for  the 
lovely  brown  of  her  hair  was  now  a  pale  silver  gray,  and  age 
had  laid  its  withering  hand  on  her  brow.  With  a  faint  cry,  I 
ejaculated  her  name,  and  attempted  to  raise  my  head  from  the 
pillow,  but  in  vain.  I  had  no  power  of  motion.  Even  the  ex- 
ertion of  uttering  her  name  was  beyond  my  strength.  She  rose, 
bent  over  me,  looked  earnestly  and  long  into  the  eyes  uplifted 
to  her  face,  then  dropping  on  her  knees  and  clasping  her  mu.ds, 
her  spirit  went  upwards  in  silent  prayer. 

As  thus  she  knelt,  and  I  gazed  on  her  upturned  countenance, 
shaded  by  that  strange,  mournful,  silver  cloud,  my  thoughts 
began  to  shape  themselves  slowly  and  gradually,  as  the  features 
of  a  landscape  through  dissolving  mists.  They  trembled  as 
the  foliage  trembles  in  the  breeze  that  disperses  the  vapors. 
Images  of  the  past  gained  distinctness  of  outline  and  coloring, 
and  all  at  once,  like  the  black  hull,  broken  mast,  and  rent  sails 
of  a  wrecked  vessel,  one  awful  scene  rose  before  me.  The  face, 
like  that  of  the  angel  of  death,  the  sound  terrible  as  the  thunders 
of  doom,  the  bleeding  body  that  my  arms  encircled,  the  destroy- 
ing husband,  —  the  victim  brother,  —  all  came  back  to  me ; 
life,  —  memory,  —  grief,  —  horror,  —  all  came  back. 

"Ernest!  Richard!"  burst  in  anguish  from  iny  feeble  lips. 

"They  live!  my  child,  they  live!"  said  Mrs.  Linwood, 
rising  from  her  knees  and  taking  my  passive  hand  in  both  hers ; 
"  but  ask  nothing  now ;  you  have  been  very  ill,  you  are  weak  as 
an  infant ;  you  must  be  tranquil,  patient,  and  submissive ;  and 
grateful,  too,  to  a  God  of  infinite  mercy.  When  you  are  stronger 
I  will  talk  to  you,  but  not  now.  You  must  yield  yourself  to  my 
guidance,  in  the  spirit  of  an  unweaned  child." 

'•  They  live !  "  repeated  I  to  myself,  "  my  God,  I  bless  thee ! 
I  lie  at  thy  footstool.  I  am  willing  to  die ;  I  long  to  die.  Let 
the  waves  of  eternity  roll  over  my  soul." 

Husband  and  brother!  they  lived, and  yet  neither  came  to  me 
on  my  couch  of  sickness.  But  Richard !  had  not  I  seen  him 
bleeding,  insensible,  the  image  of  death  ?  he  lived,  yet  he  might 


EKXE3TLIKWOOI.  389 

be  on  the  borders  of  the  grave.  But  she  had  commanded  me  to 
be  silent,  submissive,  and  grateful ;  and  I  tried  to  obey  her.  My 
physical  weakness  was  such,  it  subdued  the  paroxysms  of  mental 
agony,  and  the  composing  draught  which  she  gave  me  was  a 
blessed  Nepenthe,  producing  oblivion  and  repose. 

The  next  day  I  recognized  Dr.  Ilarlowe,  the  excellent  and 
beloved  physician.  When  I  called  him  by  name,  as  he  stood  by 
the  bed,  counting  my  languid  pulse,  the  good  man  turned 
aside  his  head  to  hide  the  womanish  tears  that  moistened  his 
cheeks.  Then  looking  down  on  me  with  a  benignant  smile,  he 
said,  smoothing  my  hair  on  my  forehead,  as  if  I  were  a  little 
child  — 

"  Be  a  good  girl ;  keep  quiet ;  be  patient  as  a  lamb,  and  you 
will  soon  be  well." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  ill,  Doctor  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  am  very 
foolish,  I  know  ;  but  it  seems  as  if  even  you  look  older  than 
you  did." 

"  Ne.ver  mind,  my  dear,  how  long  you  have  been  sick.  I 
mean  to  have  you  well  in  a  short  time.  Perhaps  I  do  look  a 
little  older,  for  I  have  forgotten  to  shave  this  morning." 

While  he  was  speaking,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lawn 
through  a  slight  opening  in  the  window  curtain,  and  I  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  amazement  and  alarm.  The  trees  which  I 
had  last  beheld  clothed  in  a  foliage  of  living  green,  were  covered 
with  the  golden  tints  of  autumn  ;  and  here  and  there  a  naked 
bough,  with  prophetic  desolation,  waved  its  arm  across  the 
sky. 

Where  had  my  spirit  been  while  the  waning  year  had  rolled 
on?  Where  was  Ernest?  Where  was  Richard?  Why  was  I 
forsaken  and  alone  ? 

These  questions  quivered  on  my  tongue,  and  would  have  ut- 
terance. 

"  Tell  me,  Doctor,  —  I  cannot  live  in  this  dreadful  suspense." 

He  sat  down  by  me,  still  holding  my  hand  in  his,  and  prom 
ised  to  tell  me,  if  I  would  be  calm  and  passive.  He  told  me 
that  for  two  months  I  had  been  in  a  state  of  alternate  insensi- 
bility and  duiiriuui,  that  they  had  despaired  of  my  life,  and  tliat 


390  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

they  welcomed  me  as  one  risen  from  the  grave.  He  told  ma 
that  Ernest  had  left  home,  in  consequence  of  the  prayers  of 
his  mother,  till  Richard  should  recover  from  the  effects  of  1m 
wound,  which  they  at  first  feared  would  prove  %tal ;  that  Rich- 
ard was  convalescent,  was  under  the  same  roof  with  me,  and 
would  see  me  as  soon  as  1  could  bear  the  meeting. 

"  Ernest  knows  that  he  is  my  brother, —  he  knows  that  I  am 
innocent,"  I  exclaimed,  my  whole  soul  trembling  on  his  answer. 

"  I  trust  he  knows  it  now,"  he  replied,  with  a  troubled  coun- 
tenance. "  His  mother  has  written  and  told  him  all.  We  were 
ignorant  ourselves  of  this,  you  must  recollect,  till  Richard  was 
able  to  explain  it." 

'"  And  he  went  away  believing  me  a  wretch  ! "  I  cried,  in  a 
tone  of  unutterable  agony.  "  He  will  never,  never  return  ! " 

"  My  dear  child,"  replied  Dr.  Harlowe,  in  an  accent  of  kind 
authority,  "  you  have  no  right  to  murmur ;  you  have  been 
spared  the  most  awful  infliction  a  sovereign  God  could  lay 
upon  you,  —  a  brother's  life  taken  by  a  husband's  hand.  Praise 
the  Almighty  day  and  night,  bless  Him  without  ceasing,  that 
He  has  lifted  from  your  bosom  this  weight  of  woe.  Be  recon- 
ciled to  your  husband's  absence.  Mourn  not  for  a  separation 
which  may  prove  the  greatest  blessing  ever  bestowed  upon  both. 
All  may  yet  be  well.  It  will  be,  if  God  wills  it ;  and  if  He  wills 
it  not,  my  dear  child,  you  must  then  lay  your  hand  on  your 
mouth,  and  your  mouth  in  the  dust,  and  say,  'It  is  the  Lord,  let 
Him  do  what  seemeth  good  in  His  sight.' " 

"  I  know  it,  —  I  feel  it,"  I  answered,  tears  raining  on  my  pil- 
low; "but  let  me  see  my  brother.  It  will  do  me  good." 

"  By  and  by,"  said  he ;  "  he  i.s  not  very  strong  himself  yet 
The  young  rascal!  if  he  had  only  confided  to  me  the  secret 
with  which  his  heart  was  bursting !  But  there  is  no  use  in  cry- 
ing over  burnt  bread.  We  must  keep  it  out  of  the  fire  next 
time." 

The  entrance  of  Edith  checked  this  conversation,  and  it  vaa 
well.  She  came  with  her  usual  gentle  motion,  and  fair,  pitying 
countenance,  and  diffused  around  her  an  atmosphere  of  divine 
repose.  My  brain,  relieved  of  the  dreadful  tension  of  suspense, 


ERXEST     LIN  WO      D.  891 

throbbed  soft  and  cool  beneath  the  snow  of  her  loving  fingers. 
She,  too,  was  pale  and  wan,  but  she  smiled  upon  me  with  glis- 
tening eyes,  and  whispered  words  of  sweetest  consolation. 

It  was  not  till  after  the  lapse  of  several  days  that  I  was  per- 
mitted to  see  Richard,  and  then  the  doctor  said  he  deserved  a 
good  whipping  for  insisting  on  coming.  He  came  into  the  room 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Dr.  Harlowe,  and  supported  on  the  other 
side  by  Mrs.  Linwood.  He  looked  like  the  shadow  of  his 
former  self,  —  so  white,  so  thin  and  languid,  and  his  counte- 
nance showed  as  plainly  as  words  could  speak,  that  he  was 
struck  with  the  same  sad  change  in  me. 

"  Now  no  heroics,  no  scene,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  say  how  do 
you  do,  and  shake  hands,  but  not  one  bit  of  sentiment,  —  I  for- 
bid that  entirely." 

"  My  sister,  my  dear  sister !  "  said  Richard,  bending  down  and 
kissing  my  forehead.  He  reeled  as  he  lifted  his  head,  and 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Dr.  Harlowe's  strong  arm  supported 
him. 

I  longed  to  embrace  him  with  all  a  sister's  fondness,  and 
pour  out  on  his  bosom  all  my  sorrow  and  my  love ;  but  the 
doctor  was  imperative,  and  made  him  recline  in  an  easy-chair 
by  the  bedside,  threatening  him  with  instant  dismission  if  he 
were  not  perfectly  quiet  and  obedient.  I  saw  Richard  start 
and  shudder,  as  his  eyes  rested  on  my  left  arm,  which  hung 
over  the  counterpane.  The  sleeve  of  my  loose  robe  had 
slipped  up,  baring  the  arm  below  the  elbow.  The  start,  the 
shudder,  the  look  of  anguish,  made  me  involuntarily  raise  it, 
and  then  I  saw  a  scar,  as  of  a  recently  healed  wound  just  be- 
low the  elbow.  I  understood  it  all.  The  ball  that  had  pene- 
trated his  back,  had  passed  through  my  arm,  and  thus  prevented 
it  from  reaching  the  citadel  of  life.  That  feeble  arm  had  been 
his  safeguard  and  his  shield;  it  had  intercepted  the  bolt  of 
death ;  it  had  barricaded,  as  it  were,  the  gates  of  hell. 

Mrs.  Linwood,  who  was  standing  by  me,  stooped  down,  kissed 
the  scar,  and  drew  the  sleeve  gently  over  it.  As  she  bowed 
her  head,  and  I  saw  the  silver  shadow  on  her  late  dark,  brown 
hair,  J  felt  how  intense  must  have  been  the  suffering  that 


892  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

wrought  this  wondrous  change,  —  and  I  resolved  to  bear  un« 
murmuring  my  own  sorrows,  rather  than  add  a  feather's  weight 
to  her  burden  of  woe. 

I  remembered  how  the  queenly  locks  of  Marie  Antoinette 
were  whitened  in  one  night  of  agony.  Perhaps  my  own  dark 
tresses  were  crowned  by  premature  snow.  I  bad  not  seen  rny- 
eelf  since  the  green  of  summer  had  passed  into  the  "  sere  and 
yellow  leaf,"  and  perhaps  the  blight  of  my  heart  was  visible  on 
my  brow.  When  I  was  alone  with  Edith,  I  surprised  her  by 
asking  if  my  hair  were  not  white.  She  smiled,  and  bringing  a 
toilet  glass,  held  it  before  me.  What  was  my  astonishment  to 
see  my  hair  curling  in  short  waves  round  my  face,  like  the  locks 
of  childhood !  And  such  a  face,  —  so  white,  so  colorless.  I 
hardly  recognized  myself,  and  pushing  back  the  glass,  I  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Dear  Gabriella !  "  said  Edith,  quite  distressed,  "  I  am  sorry 
they  cut  off  your  beautiful  hair.  But  the  doctor  said  it  must  be 
done.  It  does  not  spoil  you,  though.  You  do  not  know  how 
sweetly  childish  it  makes  you  look." 

"  I  care  not  for  the  looks,  Edith  ;  it  is  not  that.  But  it  is  so 
dreadful  to  think  of  so  many  changes,  and  I  unconscious  of  all. 
Such  a  long,  dreary  blank !  Where  was  my  soul  wandering  ? 
What  fearful  scenes  may  hereafter  dawn  on  my  memory? 
Beauty !  No,  Edith  ;  think  not  I  weep  for  the  cloud  that  has 
passed  over  it.  The  only  eyes  in  which  I  desired  to  appear 
lovely,  will  never  behold  me  more." 

"  You  will  not  be  the  only  sufferer,  Gabriella,"  said  Edith, 
mournfully.  "  A  dreadful  blow  has  fallen  upon  us  all ;  but  for 
our  mother's  sake,  if  not  for  a  greater,  we  must  endeavor  to 
submit." 

"  Tell  me,  Edith,  what  I  dare  not  ask  of  her,  tell  me  where 
he  is  gone,  and  tell  me  the  particulars  of  those  first  dark  hours 
when  my  soul  was  in  such  awful  eclipse.  I  must  know  ;  and 
when  once  told,  I  shall  be  resigned,  whatever  be  my  fate." 

Edith  seated  herself  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  leaned  back 
to  that  I  could  not  look  in  her  face.  Then  putting  her  arms 
round  me,  she  drew  me  towards  her,  and  made  me  rest  against 
her  shoulder. 


ERNEST      LIN  WOOD.  393 

"  If  you  grieve  to  listen,  think  how  painful  it  is  for  me  to  re- 
late," ;«aid  she. 

"  I  will,"  I  answered ;  "  I  shall  have  strength  to  hear  what- 
ever you  have  fortitude  to  tell." 

"  You  must  not  ask  a  minute  description  of  what  will  always 
be  involved  in  my  remembrance  in  a  horror  of  thick  darkness. 
I  know  not  how  I  got  home  from  Dr.  Harlowe's,  where  the 
tidings  reached  me.  My  mother  brought  you  in  the  carriage, 
supported  in  her  arms ;  and  when  I  first  saw  you,  you  were 
lying  just  where  you  are  now,  perfectly  insensible.  Richard 
was  carried  to  Dr.  Harlowe's  on  a  litter,  and  it  was  t/ien  feared 
he  might  not  live." 

Edith's  voice  faltered. 

"  It  was  after  sunset  The  saloon  was  dark,  and  all  was 
gloom  and  confusion  in  the  household.  Mamma  and  I  were 
standing  by  your  bed,  with  our  backs  to  the  door,  when  we 
heard  a  hoarse,  low  voice  behind  us,  saying,  — 

"  <  Is  she  dead  ? ' 

"  We  turned,  and  beheld  Ernest  right  in  the  door  way,  look- 
ing more  like  a  spectre  than  a  human  being. 

"  '  No,  no,'  answered  my  mother  ;  and  almost  running  to  meet 
him,  she  seized  htm  by  the  arm,  drew  him  into  the  chamber, 
and  closed  the  door.  He  struggled  to  be  released;  but  she 
seemed  to  have  the  strength  of  numbers  in  her  single  grasp. 

" '  She  is  not  dead,'  said  she,  pointing  to  the  bed,  '  though  she 
hears,  sees,  knows  nothing ;  but  Richard  will  die,  and  you  will  be 
arrested  as  a  murderer.  You  must  not  linger  here  one  moment. 
Go,  and  save  yourself  from  the  consequences  of  this  fatal  act. 
Go,  if  you  would  not  see  me,  your  mother,  die  in  agony  at  your 
feet." 

"  Oh !  Gabriella,  had  you  seen  her  then,  her  who  has  such  sub- 
lime self-control,  prostrate  at  his  feet,  wringing  her  hands  and 
entreating  him  to  fly  before  it  was  too  late,  you  would  not  won- 
ier  that  the  morning  sun  shone  on  her  silver  hair. 

" '  I  will  not  fly  the  death  for  which  I  groan,'  cried  Ernest, 
*  Ilad  I  ten  thousand  lives,  I  would  loathe  and  curse  thera  alL' 


894  ERNKST      LI  N  WOOD. 

"'Parricide,  parricide,'  exclaimed  my  mother,  <  wo,  wo  be  to 
him  who  spurns  a  kneeling  mother's  prayer.' 

"'Oh!  my  mother,' cried  he,  endeavoring  to  raise  her  from 
the  ground,  while  he  shook  as  if  with  ague  shiverings.  '  I  dc 
not  spurn  you  ;  but  why  should  I  live,  with  a  brand  blacker  than 
Cain's  on  my  heart  and  soul,  —  crushed,  smitten,  dishonored, 
and  undone  ? ' 

" '  Forbear,  my  son.  This  blighted  fonn  is  sacred  as  it  is  spot- 
less, lias  not  blood  quenched  your  maniac  passion?' 

"  The  eyes  of  Ernest  flashed  with  lurid  fire. 

"'Locked  in  each  other's  arms  they  fell,'  he  muttered  througb 
his  shut  teeth,  '  heart  to  heart,  mother.  I  saw  them,  and  God 
who  will  judge  me,  saw  them.  No,  she  is  false,  false,  fa/sc,  — 
false  as  the  lost  angels  who  fell  from  paradise  into  the  burning, 
pit  of  doom.' 

"  But  what  am  I  doing,  Gabriella  ?  I  did  not  mean  to  repeat 
this.  I  had  become  so  excited  by  the  remembrance  of  that 
terrible  scene,  I  knew  not  what  I  was  saying.  You  cannot  bear 
it.  I  must  not  go  on.  What  would  my  mother,  what  would 
Dr.  Harlowe  say,  if  they  knew  of  this  ?  " 

1  entreated  her  to  continue.  I  told  her  that  nothing  she  had 
said  was  half  so  dreadful  as  my  imagination  had  depicted,  that  I 
grew  strong  with  my  need  of  strength. 

"  And  you  and  your  mother  believed  himr"  I  said,  with  aston- 
ishing calmness  ,•  "  you  knew  not  that  Richard  was  my  brother." 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  your  wounded  arm,"  replied  Edith,  lay- 
ing her  hand  gently  on  the  scar,  "  we  should  have  supposed  he 
•was  under  a  strong  delusion  to  believe  a  lie.  Appearances 
were  against  you,  and  your  condemnation  was  my  brother's  pal- 
jfiation,  if  not  acquittal.  My  mother  continued  her  supplications, 
•mingled  with  tears  and  sighs  that  seemed  to  rend  the  life 
from  her  bosom;  and  I,  Gabriella,  do  you  think  1  was  silent  and 
passive  ?  I,  who  would  willingly  have  laid  down  my  life  foi 
his?  We  prevailed,  —  he  yielded, — he  left  us  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  —  the  darkness  of  despair.  It  is  more  than  two  months 
•ince,  and  we  have  received  no  tidings  of  the  wanderer.  My 


ERNIiST     LINWOOD.  89J 

mother  urged  him  to  go  to  New  York  and  remain  till  he  heard 
the  fate  of  Richard.  She  has  written  to  him  there,  again  and 
again,  but  as  yet  has  received  no  answer." 

'•  And  he  went  without  one  farewell  look  of  her  whom  he 
deemed  so  vile,  —  so  lost  ?  "  said  I,  pressing  Edith's  hand  against 
my  cold  and  sinking  heart. 

"  No,  Gabriella.  His  last  act  was  to  kneel  by  your  side,  and 
pray  God  to  forgive  you  both.  Twice  he  went  to  the  door,  then 
coming  back  he  bent  over  you  as  if  he  would  clasp  you  in  his 
arms  ;  then  with  a  wild  ejaculation  he  turned  away.  Ntver 
saw  I  such  anguish  in  the  human  countenance." 

44 1  have  but  one  question  more  to  a>k,"  said  I,  after  a  long 
pause,  whose  dreariness  was  that  which  follows  the  falling  of 
the  clods  in  the  grave  hollow.  "  How  did  Ernest  know  that 
Richard  was  with  me,  when  we  left  him  alone  in  the  library  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Marlowe  accidentally  alluded  to  your  father's  history 
before  Richard,  who,  you  recollect,  was  in  foreign  lands  during 
the  excitement  it  caused,  and  had  never  heard  the  circumstances. 
As  soon  as  he  heard  the  name  of  St.  James,  I  saw  him  start, 
and  turn  to  the  doctor  with  a  flushed  and  eager  countenance. 
Then  he  drew  him  one  side,  and  they  conversed  together  some 
time  in  a  low  undertone  ;  and  Richard's  face,  red  one  moment 
and  white  the  next,  flashed  with  strange  and  shifting  emotions. 
At  the  time  when  your  father's  name  obtained  such  unhappy 
notoriety,  and  yours  through  him,  in  the  public  papers,  my 
Toother  confided  to  Dr.  Harlowe,  who  was  greatly  troubled  on 
your  account,  the  particulars  of  your  mother's  life.  She  thought 
it  due  to  your  mother's  memory,  and  his  steady  friendship.  I 
know  not  how  much  he  told  Richard,  whose  manner  evidently 
surprised  him,  but  we  all  noticed  that  he  was  greatly  agitated ; 
and  then  he  abruptly  took  leave.  He  came  immediately  here, 
and  inquired  for  you,  asked  where  you  were  gone,  and  hurried 
away  as  if  on  an  errand  of  life  and  death.  Ernest,  who  was 
passing  along  the  winding  gallery,  heard  him,  and  followed." 

Another  dreary  pause.  Then  I  remembered  Julian,  and  the 
love-light  that  had  illumined  them  both  that  memorable  even- 
ing. Edith  had  not  once  alluded  to  her  own'  clouded  hopea. 


3i>6  EKNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  herself  in  her  mother's  griefs 
and  mine. 

"  And  Julian,  my  beloved  Edith?  There  is  a  future  for  you, 
a  Chappy  one,  is  there  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  expect  happiness,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh  ; 
M  but  Julian's  love  will  gild  the  gloom  of  sorrow,  and  be  the 
rainbow  of  my  clouded  days.  He  will  return  in  the  winter, 
and  then  perhaps  he  will  not  leave  me  again.  I  cannot  quit 
my  mother;  but  he  can  take  a  son's  place  in  her  desolated 
home.  No  garlands  of  roses  will  twine  round  my  bridal  hours, 
for  they  are  all  withered,  all  but  the  rose  of  Sharon,  Gabriella, 
whose  sacred  bloom  can  never  fade  away.  It  is  the  only  flower 
worth  cherishing,  —  the  only  one  without  thorns,  and  without 
blight." 

Softly  withdrawing  her  supporting  arms,  she  suffered  me  to 
sink  back  on  the  pillow,  gave  me  a  reviving  cordial,  drew  the 
curtains,  and  taking  up  a  book,  seemed  absorbed  in  its  contents. 
I  closed  my  eyes  and  appeared  to  sleep,  that  she  might  not 
suppose  her  narration  had  banished  repose.  I  had  anticipated 
all  she  uttered  ;  but  the  certainty  of  desolation  is  different  to 
the  agonies  of  suspense.  I  could  have  borne  the  separation 
from  Ernest;  but  that  he  should  believe  me  the  false,  guilty 
wretch  I  had  seemed  to  be,  inflicted  pangs  sharper  than  the 
vulture's  beak  or  the  arrow's  barb.  If  he  had  left  the  country, 
as  there  was  every  reason  to  suppose  he  had,  with  this  convic- 
tion, he  never  would  return ;  and  the  loneliness  and  dreariness 
of  a  widowhood  more  sad  than  that  which  death  creates,  would 
settle  down  darkly  and  heavily  on  my  young  life. 

I  did  not  blame  him  for  the  rash  deed  he  had  wrought,  for  it 
was  a  madman's  act.  When  I  recalled  the  circumstances,  I  did 
not  wonder  at  the  frantic  passion  that  dyed  his  hand  in  blood  ; 
and  yet  I  could  not  blame  myself.  Had  I  shrunk  from  a  broth- 
er's embrace,  I  should  have  been  either  more  or  less  thaa  wo- 
man. I  had  yielded  to  a  divine  impulse,  and  could  appeal  to 
nature  and  Heaven  for  justification. 

But  I  had  sinned.  I  had  broken  the  canons  of  the  living 
God,  and  deserved  a  fearful  chastisement.  I  had  made  uuto 


ERNEST     LI  N  WOOD.  897 

myself  an  idol,  and  no  pagan  idolater  ever  worshipped  at  his 
unhallowed  shrine  with  more  blind  devotion.  I  had  been  true 
to  Ernest,  but  false  to  my  Maker,  the  one  great  VtdJeabtU  God. 
I  had  lived  but  for  one  object,  and  that  object  was  withdrawn, 
leaving  all  creation  a  blank. 

I  stood  upon  the  lonely  strand,  the  cold  waves  beating  against 
my  feet,  and  the  bleak  winds  piercing  through  my  unsheltered 
heart.  I  stretched  out  my  arms  to  the  wild  waste  of  waters,  in 
whose  billows  my  lift-boat  was  whelmed,  and  I  called,  but  there 
was  none  to  answer.  I  cried  for  help,  but  none  came.  Then  I 
looked  up  to  heaven,  and  high  above  the  darkness  of  the  tem- 
pest and  the  gloom  of  the  deep,  one  star  shining  in  solitary 
glory  arrested  my  despairing  gaze.  I  had  seen  it  before  with  the 
eye  of  faith,  but  never  beaming  with  such  holy  lustre  as  now, 
when  all  other  lights  were  withdrawn. 

"  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 
Dawn  on  my  darkness,  and  lend  me  thine  aid. 
Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  the  infant  Redeemer  is  laid." 

Why,  tender  and  pitying  Saviour,  do  we  wait  for  the  night 
time  of  sorrow  to  fathom  the  depths  of  thy  love  and  compassion  ? 
Why  must  every  fountain  of  earthly  joy  be  dried  up,  before  we 
bow  to  taste  the  waters  of  Kedron ;  and  every  blossom  of  love 
b<;  withered,  before  we  follow  thee  to  the  garden  of  Geth- 


CHAPTER    LI. 

THOUGH  tl  e  circumstance  of  discovering  a  brother  in  tn» 
lover  of  my  youth  seems  more  like  romance  than  reality,  noth- 
ing could  be  more  simple  and  natural  than  the  explanation  cf 
the  mystery.  His  recollection  did  not  go  back  to  the  period  re- 
corded in  my  mother's  manuscript,  when  he  was  brought  as  a  law- 
ful heir  to  the  home  in  which  my  early  infancy  was  sheltered. 
His  first  remembrances  were  associated  with  a  mother's  sorrow 
and  loneliness, —  with  an  humble  dwelling  in  one  of  the  by -lanes 
af  the  city  of  New  York,  where  she  toiled  with  her  needle  for 
their  daily  bread. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Richard,  "  how  I  used  to  sit  on  a  low 
stool  at  my  mother's  feet,  and  watch  her,  as  she  wrought  in 
muslin  the  most  beautiful  flowers  and  devices,  with  a  skill  and 
rapidity  which  seemed  miraculous  to  me.  Young  as  I  was,  1 
used  to  wonder  that  any  one  could  look  so  sad,  while  producing 
such  charming  figures.  Once,  1  recollect,  the  needle  resisted 
her  efforts  to  draw  it  through  the  muslin.  She  threw  it  from 
her,  and  taking  another  from  the  needle-case  met  with  no  better 
euccess. 

" '  Oh  !  mon  Dieu  !  '  she  cried,  dropping  her  work  in  her  lap 
and  clasping  her  hands,  '  my  tears  rust  them.' 

" '  And  why  do  you  let  so  many  fall,  mother  ? '  I  asked. 
'  Where  do  they  all  come  from  ?  ' 

" '  From  a  breaking  heart,'  she  answered,  and  I  never  forgot 
her  looks  or  her  words.  The  breaking  heart  became  an  image 
in  my  mind,  almost  as  distinct  as  the  rusted  steel.  For  a  long 
time  1  was  afraid  to  jump  or  bound  about  the  room,  lest  the 

(398) 


E  R  X  K  S  T      L  I  X  W  O  O  D  899 

fracturw  in  my  mother's  heart  should  be  made  wider,  and  more 
tears  come  gushing  through. 

"  But  she  did  not  always  weep.  She  taught  me  to  read, 
while  she  toiled  with  her  needle,  and  she  told  me  tales  of  the 
genii  and  of  fairy-land,  at  twilight  hour,  or  as  she  used  to  say, 
'  entre  (e  loup  et  le  chien,'  in  her  own  expressive,  idiomatic 
language.  She  told  me,  too,  stories  from  the  Bible,  before  I  was 
able  10  read  them,  of  Isaac  bound  on  the  sacrificial  pyre,  with 
his  fa.her  kneeling  by  him,  ready  to  plunge  the  knife  in  his 
young  heart,  when  the  angels  called  to  him  out  of  heaven  to 
stay  hij  uplifted  hand  ;  of  Joseph's  wondrous  history,  from  his 
coat  of  many  colors,  fatal  cause  of  fraternal  jealou-y,  to  the  royal 
robes  and  golden  chain  with  which  Pharaoh  invested  him ;  of 
David,  the  shepherd-boy,  the  minstrel  monarch,  the  conqueror 
of  Philistia's  giant  chief.  It  was  thus  she  employed  the  dim 
hours  between  the  setting  sun  and  the  rising  stars  ;  but  the 
moment  she  lighted  her  lonely  lamp  she  again  plied  her  busy 
needle,  though  alas  !  too  often  rusted  with  her  tears. 

"  Thus  my  early  childhood  parsed,  —  and  every  day  my  heart 
twined  more  closely  round  inv  mother's  heart,  and  I  began  to 
form  great  plans  of  future  achievements  to  be  wrought  for  her. 
I  would  be  a  second  Joseph  and  go  to  some  distant  land  and  win 
fame,  and  honors,  and  wealth,  and  send  for  her  that  I  might  lay 
them  all  at  her  feet.  She  would  not,  at  first,  recognize  her  boy 
in  the  purple  and  fine  linen  of  his  sumptuous  attire  ;  but  J 
would  fall  on  her  neck,  and  lift  up  my  voice  and  weep  aloud, 
and  then  she  would  know  her  child.  A  mother's  tears,  Gabriel' 
la,  nurture  great  aspirations  in  a  child. 

to  I  used  to  accompany  her  to  the  shop  when  she  carried  home 
her  work.  It  was  there  she  first  met  the  gentleman  whose 
name  I  bear.  Their  acquaintance  commenced  through  me,  to 
whom  he  seemed  peculiarly  attracted,  and  he  won  my  admiring 
gratitude  by  the  gifts  he  lavished  upon  me.  He  came  often  tc 
see  my  mother,  and  though  at  first  she  shrunk  from  his  visits, 
she  gradually  came  to  welcome  him  as  a  friend  and  a  benefactor. 

"  One  evening,  I  think  I  was  about  eight  or  nine  years  old, 
the  took  me  in  her  arms,  and  told  me,  with  many  tears,  that  Mr 


400  E  K  X  K  S  T     L  I  N  W  O  O  D  . 

Clyde,  the  good  and  kind  gentleman  whom  I  loved  so  much, 
had  offered  to  be  a  father  to  me,  and  was  going  to  take  UP  both 
to  a  pleasant  home  in  the  country,  where  I  could  run  about  in 
the  green  fields,  and  be  free  as  the  birds  of  the  air.  She  told 
me  that  perhaps  iny  own  lather  was  living,  but  that  he  had 
left  her  so  long  their  union  was  annulled  by  law,  and  that  she 
Had  a  right  to  marry  another,  and  that  she  did  so  that  I  might 
have  a  father  arid  protector.  She  explained  this  simply,  so 
that  I  understood  it  all,  and  I  understood  too  why  she  wished 
me  to  drop  my  own  name  and  take  that  of  her  future  husband. 
It  was  associated  with  so  much  sorrow  and  wrong,  it  was  pain- 
ful to  her  ear,  and  Mr.  Clyde  wished  me  to  adopt  his  own.  lie 
was  a  good  and  honorable  man,  and  I  cherish  his  memory  with 
reverence  and  gratitude.  If  the  fissure  in  my  mother's  heart 
was  not  healed,  it  closed,  and  tears  no  longer  dripped  through. 

"•  Our  country  home  was  pleasant  and  comfortable,  and  I  rev- 
elled in  the  delights  of  nature,  with  all  the  wild  passion  of  a 
bird  let  loose  from  the  imprisoning  cage.  I  went  to  school,  —  I 
was  in  the  world  of  action,  —  the  energies  of  incipient  man- 
hood awoke  and  struggled  in  my  bosom.  We  remained  about 
two  years  in  this  rural  residence,  situated  in  the  western  part 
of  New  York,  when  Mr.  Clyde  was  called  to  attend  a  dying 
father,  who  lived  in  this  town.  Gabriella,  not  very  far  from  the 
little  cottage  in  the  woods  where  I  iirat  knew  you.  He  took 
my  mother  and  myself  with  him,  for  she  was  in  feeble  health, 
and  he  thought  the  journey  would  invigorate  her.  It  did  not. 
A  child  of  sunny  France,  she  languished  under  the  bleaker 
New  England  skies.  She  was  never  able  to  return ;  and  he 
who  came  to  bury  a  father,  soon  laid  a  beloved  wife  by  the 
side  of  the  aged.  My  heart  went  down  to  the  grave  with  her, 
and  it  was  long  before,  its  resurrection.  My  step-father  waj 
completely  crushed  by  the  blow,  for  he  loved  her  as  such  a 
woman  deserved  to  be  loved,  and  mourned  as  few  mourn.  He 
remained  with  his  ageu  mother  in  the  old  homestead,  which  she 
refused  to  leave,  and  I  was  placed  in  the  academy  under  the 
charge  of  Mr.  Regulus,  where  I  first  knew  and  loved  you,  my 
own  >ister  my  darling,  beloved  Gabriella." 


E  R  X  K  S  T     L  I  X  W  O  O  D  .  401 

If  I  had  loved  Richard  before,  how  much  more  did  I  love  him 
40W,  after  hearing  his  simple  and  affecting  history,  so  similar  tc 
ony  own.  As  I  had  never  loved  him  otherwise  than  as  a  brother, 
the  revelation  which  had  caused  such  a  terrible  revulsion  in  his 
feelings  was  a  sacred  sanction  to  mine.  His  nerves  still  vibrated 
from  the  shock,  and  he  could  not  pronounce  the  word  sister  with- 
out a  tremulousness  of  voice  which  betrayed  internal  agitation. 

He  had  but  little  more  to  relate.  His  step-father  was  dead, 
and  as  there  was  found  to  be  a  heavy  mortgage  on  his  estate, 
he  was  left  with  a  moderate  income,  sufficient  to  give  him  an 
education  and  a  start  in  life.  His  expenses  in  Europe  had  been 
defrayed  by  some  liberal  gentlemen,  who  still  considered  them- 
selves the  guardians  of  his  reputation  and  his  fortunes. 

It  was  painful  to  me  to  tell  the  story  of  our  father's  crimes, 
of  which  he  had  heard  but  a  slight  outline.  When  I  described 
our  interview  in  the  Park,  he  knit  his  brows  over  his  flashing 
eyes,  and  his  whole  frame  quivered  with  emotion. 

"  My  poor  sister !  what  a  dreadful  scene  for  you.  What  have 
you  not  suffered  !  but  you  shall  never  know  another  sorrow  from 
which  I  can  shield  you,  another  wrong  from  which  I  can  do- 
fend." 

"  O  Richard !  when  I  think  of  him  in  his  lonely  dungeon, 
alone  with  remorse  and  horror ;  when  I  think  of  roy  mother's 
dying  injunctions,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  go  to  him,  and  fulfil  the 
holy  mission  she  bade  me  perform.  Read  her  manuscript ;  you 
have  a  right  to  its  contents,  though  they  will  rend  your  heart  to 
peruse  them ;  take  it  with  you  to  your  own  room,  when  you  go, 
for  I  cannot  look  on  and  see  you  read  words  that  have  been 
driven  like  burning  arrows  through  my  soul." 

When  I  again  met  Richard,  I  could  see  in  his  bloodshot  eyes 
what  thoughts  were  bleeding  within. 

"  My  mother  lefi  me  the  same  awful  legacy,"  said  he.  "  She 
left  her  forgiveness,  if  he  lived  ;  oblivion  of  all  her  wrongs,  if  dead. 
Oh!  what  bolt  of  vengeance  is  red  enough  for  the  wretch  who 
could  destroy  the  happiness  of  two  such  women  as  your  mother 
g:id  mine  !  All-righteous  Providence,  may  thy  retributive  fires  — " 

"  Stop !  ssop ! "  I  cried,  throwing  my  arms  round  him,  aud 


402  ERNEST     L  I  N  \V  O  O  F 

arresting  his  fesuful  words, "  he  is  our  father,  you  mu.«t  not  curse 
him.  By  our  mothers'  ashes,  by  their  angels,  now  perhaps 
hovering  over  us,  forbear,  my  brother,  forbear." 

"  God  help  me,"  he  exclaimed,  his  lips  turning  to  an  ashy 
pa'eness,  "  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  about  to  say ;  but  is  it  not 
enough  to  drive  one  mad,  to  think  of  the  fountain  of  one's  life 
being  polluted,  poisoned,  and  accursed  ?  " 

"  One  drop  of  the  Saviour's  blood  can  cleanse  and  make  it 
pure,  my  brother,  if  he  were  only  led  to  the  foot  of  the  cross." 

Richard's  countenance  changed ;  a  crimson  flush  swept  over 
his  face,  and  then  left  it  colorless. 

"  My  hand  is  not  worthy  to  lead  him  there,"  he  cried,  "  and 
if  it  were,  I  fear  there  is  no  mercy  for  so  hardened,  so  ir^eter- 
ate  a  transgressor." 

"  There  is,  Richard,  there  is.  Let  the  expiring  thief  bear 
witness  to  a  Saviour's  illimitable  love.  Oh  !  it  is  sinful  to  set 
bounds  to  God's  immeasurable  mercy.  Let  us  go  together,  my 
brother.  My  mother's  dream  may  yet  be  realized.  Who 
knows  but  our  weak,  h'lial  hands,  may  lift  our  unhappy  father 
from  the  black  abyss  of  sin  and  impenitence,  Almighty  God 
assisting  us  ?  If  heavenly  blessings  are  promised  to  him  who 
turns  a  soul  from  the  error  of  his  ways,  think,  Richard,  how 
divine  the  joy,  if  it  be  an  erring  parent's  soul,  thus  reclaimed  and 
brought  home  to  God  ?  Let  us  go,  as  soon  as  we  have  strength 
to  commence  the  journey.  I  cannot  remain  here,  where  every 
thing  reminds  me  of  my  blighted  hopes  and  ruined  happiness. 
It  seems  so  like  a  grave,  Richard." 

"  I  wonder  you  do  not  hate.  I  wonder  you  do  not  curse 
me,"  exclaimed  he,  with  sudden  vehemence,  "  for  it  is  my  rash- 
ness that  has  wrought  this  desolation.  Dearly  have  you  pur- 
chased a  most  unworthy  brother.  Would  I  had  never  claimed 
you,  Gabriella ;  never  rolled  down  such  a  dark  cloud  on  your 
heart  and  home." 

u  Say  not  so,  my  beloved  brother.  The  cloud  was  on  my 
heart  already,  and  you  have  scarcely  made  it  darker  or  more 
chilling.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  living  amid  the  thunderstorms 
of  tropic  regions,  where  even  in  sunshine  electric  fires  are 


x^  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  403 

flashing.  Before  this  shock  came,  my  soul  was  sick  and  weary 
of  the  conflicts  of  wild  and  warring  passions.  Oh !  you  know 
not  how  often  I  have  sighed  for  a  brother's  heart  to  lean  upon, 
even  when  wedded  joys  were  brghtest,  —  how  much  more 
must  I  prize  the  blessing  now  !  Si  rely  never  brother  and  sister 
had  more  to  bind  them  to  each  other,  than  you  and  I,  Richard. 
Suffering  and  sorrow,  life's  holiest  sacraments,  have  hallowed 
and  strengthened  the  ties  of  nature." 

It  was  not  long  before  we  were  able  to  ride  abroad  with  Mrs. 
Linwood  and  Edith,  and  it  was  astonishing  how  rapidly  we  ad- 
vanced in  restoration  to  health.  I  could  perceive  that  we  were 
objects  of  intense  interest  and  curiosity,  from  the  keen  and 
eager  glances  that  greeted  us  on  every  side ;  for  the  fearful 
tragedy  of  which  I  had  been  the  heroine,  had  cast  a  shadow 
over  the  town  and  its  surroundings.  Its  rumor  had  swept  be- 
yond the  blue  hills,  and  Grandison  Place  was  looked  upon  as 
the  theatre  of  a  dark  and  bloody  drama.  This  was  all  natural. 
Seldom  is  the  history  of  every-day  life  marked  by  events  as 
romantic  and  thrilling  as  those  compressed  in  my  brief  experi- 
ence of  eighteen  years.  And  of  all  the  deep,  vehement  pas- 
sions, whose  exhibition  excites  the  popular  mind,  there  is  none 
that  takes  such  strong  hold  as  jealousy,  the  terrible  hydra  of 
the  human  heart. 

I  believe  I  was  generally  beloved,  and  that  a  deep  feeling  of 
sympathy  for  my  misfortunes  pervaded  the  community,  for  I 
had  never  been  elated  by  prosperity ;  but  Ernest,  whose  exclu- 
siveness  and  reserve  was  deemed  haughtiness,  was  far  from  be- 
ing popular.  Mrs.  Linwood  was  revered  by  all,  and  blessed  as 
the  benefactress  of  the  poor  and  the  comforter  of  the  afflicted ; 
but  she  was  lifted  by  fortune  above  the  social  level  of  the  com- 
munity, and  few,  very  few  were  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  in- 
mates of  the  Granite  Castle,  as  Grandison  Place  was  often  called. 
Its  massy  stone  walls,  its  turreted  roof,  sweeping  lawn,  and  ele- 
vated position,  seemed  emblematic  of  the  aristocracy  of  its 
owners  ;  and  though  the  blessings  of  the  lower  classes,  and  the 
respect  and  reverence  of  the  higher,  rested  upon  it,  there  was  a 
mMliorral  one,  such  as  is  found  in  every  community,  that  looked 
26 


404  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

with  envy  on  those,  whose  characters  they  could  not  appreciate, 
because  they  were  lifted  so  high  above  their  own  le\  el. 

I  have  spoken  of  Dr.  Marlowe  and  Mr.  Regulus  as  the  most 
valued  friends  of  the  family ;  but  there  was  one  whom  it  would 
be  ungrateful  hi  me  to  omit,  and  whose  pure  and  sacred  traits 
came  forth  in  the  dark  hours  through  which  I  had  just  passed, 
like  those  worlds  of  light  which  are  never  seen  by  day.  I  allude 
to  Mr.  Somerville,  the  pastor  of  the  parish,  and  who  might 
truly  be  called  a  man  of  God.  The  aged  minister,  who  had  pre- 
sided over  the  church  during  my  mother's  life,  had  been  gathered 
to  his  fathers,  and  his  name  was  treasured,  a  golden  sheaf,  in  the 
garner  of  memory.  The  successor,  who  had  to  walk  in  the 
holy  footprints  he  had  left  in  the  valley,  was  obliged  to  take 
heed  to  his  steps  and  to  shake  the  dust  of  earth  from  his  san- 
dals as  he  went  along.  In  our  day  of  sunshine  he  had  stood 
somewhat  aloof,  for  he  felt  his  mission  was  to  the  poor  and 
lowly,  to  the  sons  and  daughters  of  want  and  affliction ;  but  as 
soon  as  sickness  and  sorrow  darkened  the  household,  he  came 
with  lips  distilling  balm,  and  hands  ready  to  pour  oil  on  the 
bruised  and  wounded  heart. 

Methinks  I  see  him  now,  as  when  he  knelt  by  my  bedside, 
after  I  aroused  from  my  long  and  deadly  trance.  No  outward 
graces  adorned  his  person,  but  the  beauty  of  holiness  was  on 
his  brow,  and  its  low,  sweet  music  in  his  somewhat  feeble  ac- 
cents. It  seemed  to  me  as  if  an  angel  were  pleading  for  me, 
and  my  soul,  emerging  as  it  were  from  the  cold  waves  of  obliv- 
ion, thrilled  with  new-born  life.  Had  my  spirit  been  nearer  to 
God  during  its  unconscious  wanderings,  and  brought  back  with 
it  impressions  of  celestial  glory  never  conceived  before  ?  I 
know  not ;  but  I  know  that  a  change  had  passed  over  it,  and 
that  I  felt  the  reality  of  that  eternity,  which  had  seemed  before 
a  grand  and  ever-receding  shadow. 

Every  day,  during  Richard's  illness  and  mine,  came  our  good 
and  beloved  pastor,  and  he  always  left  a  track  of  light  behind 
him.  I  always  felt  nearer  heaven  when  he  departed  than  when 
he  came,  for  its  kingdom  was  within  him. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  405 

To  him  I  confided  my  wish  to  accompany  my  brother  on  his 
filial  mission,  and  he  warmly  approved  it. 

"  As  surely  as  I  believe  the  Lord  has  put  it  into  your  heart 
to  go,"  said  he,  "  do  I  believe  that  a  blessing  will  follow  you." 

Mrs.  Lin  wood  was  more  tardy  in  her  sanction. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  with  the  tenderesl 
compassion,  "you  do  not  know  what  is  before  you.  What 
will  you  do  in  that  great  city  without  female  friendship  and  sym 
pathy  ?  You  and  Richard,  both  so  young  and  inexperienced 
in  the  ways  of  the  world.  I  will  not,  however,  put  any  obsta- 
cle in  his  path,  for  man  may  go  unshrinking  where  woman  may 
not  tread.  But  you,  my  Gabriella,  must  remain  with  me." 

"  Here,  where  the  phantom  of  Ernest  haunts  my  every  step, 
where  the  echo  of  his  voice  is  heard  in  every  gale,  and  the 
shadow  of  departed  joy  comes  between  me  and  the  sunshine  of 
heaven  ?  What  can  I  do  here  but  remind  you  by  my  presence 
of  him,  whom  I  have  banished  for  ever  from  your  arms  ?  Let 
me  go,  my  own  dear  mother,  for  I  cannot  remain  passive  here. 
I  shall  not  want  female  sympathy  and  guardianship,  for  Mrs. 
Brahan  is  all  that  is  kind  and  tender,  and  knows  enough  of  my 
sad  history  to  be  entitled  to  unbounded  confidence.  I  will  write 
to  her,  and  be  guided  by  her,  as  if  she  were  another  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood." 

She  yielded  at  last,  and  so  did  Dr.  Harlowe,  who  cheered  me 
by  his  cordial  approval.  He  said  it  was  the  best  thing  I  could 
do  for  myself;  for  change  of  scene,  and  a  strong  motive  of  ac- 
tion, might  save  me  from  becoming  a  confirmed  invalid.  Edith 
wept,  but  made  no  opposition.  She  believed  I  was  in  the  path 
of  duty,  and  that  it  would  be  made  smooth  beneath  my  feet. 

No  tidings  from  Ernest  came  to  interrupt  the  dreary  blank  ot 
his  absence,  —  the  same  continuity  of  anxiety  and  uncertainty 
stretching  on  into  a  hopeless  futurity.  Again  and  again  I  said 
to  myself  — 

"  Better  so  a  thousand  times,  than  to  live  as  I  have  done,  scathed 
by  the  lightning  of  jealousy.  Even  if  he  returned,  I  could  not, 
with  the  fear  of  God  now  before  me,  renew  our  unblest  wedlock. 


406  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

The  hand  of  violence  has  sundered  us,  and  my  heart  fibres  murt 
ever  bleed  from  the  wrench,  but  they  will  not  again  intwine. 
He  has  torn  himself  ruthlessly  from  me  ;  and  the  shattered 
vine,  rent  from  its  stay,  is  beginning  to  cling  to  the  pillars  of 
God's  temple.  It  is  for  him  I  pray,  for  him  I  mourn,  rather 
than  myself.  It  is  for  his  happiness,  rather  than  my  own  justi- 
fication, that  I  desire  him  to  know  the  history  of  my  innocence. 
I  am  willing  to  drink  the  cup  of  humiliation  even  to  the  dregs,  if 
it  may  not  pass  from  me  ;  but  spare  him,  O  Heavenly  Father, 
the  bitter,  bitter  chalice." 

It  was  a  bleak  morning  in  early  winter,  that  we  commenced 
our  journey  to  that  city,  where  little  more  than  a  year  ago  I 
tad  gone  a  young  and  happy  bride.  As  we  rode  along  the 
winding  avenue,  I  looked  out  on  the  dry  russet  lawn,  the  ma- 
jestic skeleton  of  the  great  elm,  stripped  of  the  foliage  and 
hues  of  life,  and  saw  the  naked  branches  of  the  oaks  clinging 
to  each  other  in  sad  fraternity,  and  heard  the  wind  whistling 
through  them  as  through  the  shrouds  of  a  vessel.  With  an  in- 
voluntary shiver  I  drew  nearer  to  Richard,  and  hid  my  face 
from  the  prophetic  desolation  of  nature. 


CHAPTER    LI  I. 

ON  our  arrival  in  New  York,  we  stopped  at  the hotel 

till  private  lodgings  could  be  obtained.  We  both  wished  to  be  as 
retired  as  possible  from  public  observation,  and  for  this  purpose 
I  remained  in  my  room,  where  Richard,  as  my  brother,  had  the 
privilege  of  visiting  me.  I  was  anxious  he  should  go  immedi- 
ately to  Mr.  Brahan's ;  for,  added  to  my  desire  to  be  under  the 
influence  of  her  feminine  regard,  I  cherished  a  faint  hope  that 
through  him  I  might  learu  something  of  Ernest's  mysterious 
exile. 

They  both  returned  with  Richard;  and  while  Mr.  Brahan 
remained  with  him  below,  she  came  to  my  chamber,  and  wel- 
comed me  with  a  warmth  and  tenderness  that  melted,  while  it 
cheered. 

"  You  must  not  stay  here  one  hour  longer,"  said  she,  pressing 
one  hand  in  hers,  while  she  laid  the  other  caressingly  on  my 
short,  curling  hair.  "  You  must  go  with  me,  and  feel  as  much 
at  home  as  with  your  own  Mrs.  Lin  wood.  I  pass  a  great  many 
lonely  hours,  while  my  husband  is  absent  engaged  in  business  ; 
and  it  will  be  a  personal  favor  to  me.  Indeed,  you  must  not 
refuse." 

I  said  something  about  leaving  my  brother,  while  I  expressed 
my  gratitude  for  her  kindness. 

"  Mr.  Brahan  will  arrange  that,"  she  said ;  "  you  may  be  as- 
sured he  shall  be  cared  for.  You  have  not  unpacked  your 
trunk ;  and  here  is  your  bonnet  and  mantilla  ready  to  be  re- 
sumed. You  did  not  think  I  would  suffer  you  to  remain  among 
strangers,  when  my  heart  has  been  yearning  to  meet  you  for 
weary  mouths  ?  " 


408  ERNEST      LIN  WOOD. 

With  gentle  earnestness  she  overcame  all  ray  scruples ;  and 
it  was  but  a  little  time  before  I  found  myself  established  as  a 
guest  in  the  house  where  I  first  beheld  the  light  of  existence. 
How  strange  it  seemed,  that  the  children  of  the  two  betrayed 
and  injured  beings  who  had  been  made  exiles  from  that  roof, 
should  be  received  beneath  its  shelter  after  the  lapse  of  so 
many  years ! 

Mrs.  Brahan  accompanied  me  to  the  chamber  prepared  for 
my  reception :  and  had  I  been  her  own  daughter  she  could  not 
have  lavished  upon  me  more  affectionate  cares.  The  picture 
of  my  mother,  which  I  had  returned  when  we  left  the  city,  was 
hanging  on  the  wall ;  and  the  eyes  and  lips  of  heavenly  sweet- 
ness seemed  to  welcome  her  sad  descendant  to  the  home  of  her 
infancy.  As  I  stood  gazing  upon  it  with  mingled  grief  and 
adoration,  Mrs.  Brahan  encircled  me  with  her  arm,  and  told  me 
she  understood  now  the  history  of  that  picture,  and  the  mystery 
of  its  wonderful  resemblance  to  me.  I  had  not  seen  her  since 
the  notoriety  my  name  had  acquired,  in  consequence  of  the  dia- 
monds and  my  father's  arrest ;  and  she  knew  me  now  as  the 
daughter  of  that  unhappy  man.  Did  she  know  the  circumstan- 
ces of  the  discovery  of  my  brother,  and  my  husband's  flight  ? 
I  dared  not  ask  ;  but  I  read  so  much  sympathy  and  compassion 
in  her  countenance,  and  so  much  tenderness  in  her  manners,  I 
thought  she  had  fathomed  the  depth  of  my  sorrows. 

"  You  look  like  a  girl  of  fifteen,"  she  said,  passing  her  fingers 
through  my  carelessly  waving  locks.  "  Your  hair  was  very 
beautiful,  but  I  can  scarcely  regret  its  loss." 

"I  may  look  more  juvenile,  —  I  believe  I  do,  for  every  one 
tells  me  so ;  but  the  youth  and  bloom  of  ray  heart  are  gone  for 
ever." 

"  For  ever  from  the  lips  of  the  young,  and  from  those  more 
advanced  in  life,  mean  very  different  things,"  answered  Mrs. 
Brahan.  "  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  happier  hours  in  store, 
and  you  will  look  back  to  these  as  morning  shadows  melting 
off  in  the  brightening  sunshine." 

"  Do  you  know  all  that  has  happened,  dear  Mrs. 
since  I  left  your  city  ?  ** 


ERNEST     I,  IX  WOOD'  405 

"  The  rumor  of  the  distressing  circumstances  which  attended 
the  discovery  of  your  brother  reached  us  even  here,  and  our 
hearts  bled  for  you.  But  all  will  yet  be  well.  The  terrible 
shock  you  have  sustained  will  be  a  death  blow  to  the  passion 
that  has  caused  you  so  much  misery.  Forgive  me,  if  I  make 
painful  allusions  ;  but  I  cannot  suffer  you  to  sink  into  the  gloom 
of  despondency." 

"  I  try  to  look  upward.  I  do  think  the  hopes  which  have  no 
home  on  earth,  have  found  rest  in  heaven." 

"  But  why,  my  dear  young  friend,  do  you  close  your  heart  to 
earthly  hope  ?  Surely,  when  your  husband  returns,  you  may 
anticipate  a  joyful  reunion." 

"  When  he  returns !  Alas !  his  will  be  a  life-long  exile. 
Believing  what  he  does,  he  will  never,  never  return." 

"  But  you  have  written  and  explained  every  thing?" 

"  How  can  I  write,  —  when  I  know  not  where  to  direct,  when 
I  know  not  to  what  region  he  has  wandered,  or  what  resting- 
place  he  has  found  ?  " 

"  But  Mr.  Harland  !  "  said  she,  with  a  look  of  troubled  sur- 
prise. "  You  might  learn  through  him  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Linwood  has  written  repeatedly  to  Mr.  Harland,  and 
received  no  answer.  She  concluded  that  he  had  left  the  city, 
but  knew  not  how  to  ascertain  his  address." 

"  Then  you  did  not  know  that  he  had  gone  to  India  ?  I 
thought,  —  I  believed, —  is  it  possible  that  you  are  not  aware  "  — 

"  Of  what  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  catching  hold  of  her  arm,  for  my 
brain  reeled  and  my  sight  darkened. 

"  That  Mr.  Linwood  accompanied  him,"  she  answered,  turning 
pale  at  the  agitation  her  words  excited.  To  India !  that  distant, 
deadly  clime!  To  India,  without  one  farewell,  one  parting 
token  to  her  whom  he  left  apparently  on  the  brink  of  the 
grave ! 

By  the  unutterable  anguish  of  that  moment,  I  knew  the  de- 
lusion that  had  veiled  my  motives.  I  had  thought  it  was  only 
to  reclaim  a  lost  parent  that  I  had  come,  but  I  found  it  was  the 
hope  of  meeting  the  deluded  wanderer,  more  than  fiJiul  piety, 
that  had  ui  ged  my  departure- 


41 0  ERNESTLIXWOOD. 

"  To  India  !  "  I  cried,  and  ray  spirit  felt  the  tossiags  of  the 
wild  billows  that  lay  rolling  between.  "  Then  we  are  indeed 
parted,  —  parted  for  ever ! " 

"  Why,  t'is  but  a  step  from  ocean  to  ocean,  from  clime  to 
clime,"  she  said  in  kind,  assuring  accents.  "  Men  think  nothing 
of  such  a  voyage,  for  science  has  furnished  wings  which  bear 
them  over  space  with  the  speed  of  an  eagle.  If  you  knew  not 
his  destination,  I  should  think  you  would  rejoice  rather  than 
mourn,  to  be  relieved  of  the  torture  of  suspense.  Had  I  known 
that  you  were  ignorant  of  the  fact,  I  should  have  written  months 
ago." 

"  Is  it  certain  that  he  is  gone  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Did  you  see  him  ? 
Did  Mr.  Brahan  ?  How  did  you  learn,  what  we  have  vainly 
sought  to  know  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Brahan  had  business  with  Mr.  Harland,  and  having 
iitglected  some  important  items,  followed  him  on  board  the  ship 
in  which  he  embarked.  It  was  at  night,  and  he  remained  but  a 
short  time  ;  but  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  your  husband,  whom  he 
immediately  recognized,  but  who  gave  him  no  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  him.  Knowing  he  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Harland's, 
he  supposed  he  had  come  on  board  to  bid  him  farewell,  though 
he  was  not  aware  of  his  being  in  the  city.  When  we  heard  the 
rumor  of  the  tragic  scenes  in  which  he  acted  so  dread  a  part, 
and  connected  it  with  the  time  of  Mr.  Harland's  departure,  Mr. 
Brahan  recalled  Mr.  Linwood's  unexpected  appearance  in  the 
ship,  and  the  mystery  was  explained.  But  we  dreamed  not  that 
his  departure  was  unknown  to  you.  If  you  had  only  written 
to  us ! " 

It  was  strange  that  I  had  never  thought  of  the  possibility  of 
their  knowing  any  thing  connected  with  Ernest.  Mr.  Harland 
was  the  only  gentleman  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  intimacy, 
the  only  one  to  whom  we  thought  of  applying  in  the  extremity 
of  anxiety. 

"  Has  the  ship  been  heard  from  ?  What  was  its  name  ?  "  1 
asked,  unconscious  of  the  folly  of  my  first  question. 

"  Not  yet.  It  was  called  the  '  Star  of  the  East.'  A  beautiful 
and  hope-inspiring  nanvi.  Mr.  Brahan  can  give  you  Mr.  Har 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  411 

land's  address.  You  can  write  to  your  husband  through  him. 
Every  thing  is  as  clear  as  noonday.  Do  you  not  already  in- 
hale the  fragrance  of  the  opening  flowers  of  joy  ?  " 

I  tried  to  smile,  but  I  fear  it  was  a  woful  attempt  Even  the 
ecent  of  the  roses  had  been  crushed  out  of  my  heart. 

"  Yo  »r  brother  is  an  exceedingly  interesting  young  man,"  she 
observed,  perceiving  that  I  could  not  speak  without  painful 
agitation  of  Ernest."  I  have  never  seen  a  stranger  who  won 
my  regard  so  instantaneouslv." 

"  Dear  Richard  !  "  I  cried,  "  he  is  all  that  he  seems,  and  far 
nr<re.  The  noblest,  kindest,  and  best.  How  sad  that  such  a 
cloud  darkens  his  young  manhood  i  " 

"  It  will  serve  as  a  background  to  his  filial  virtues  and  bring 
them  out  in  bright  and  beautiful  relief.  I  admire,  I  honor  him 
a  thousand  times  more  than  if  he  were  the  heir  of  an  unspotted 
name,  a  glorious  ancestry.  A  father's  crimes  cannot  reflect 
shame  on  a  son  so  pure  and  upright  Besides,  life  bears  another 
name,  and  the  world  knows  not  his  clouded  lineage." 

My  heart  warmed  at  her  generous  praises  of  Richard,  who 
was  every  day  more  and  more  endeared  to  my  affections. 
Where  was  he  now  ?  Had  he  commenced  his  mission,  and 
gone  to  the  gloomy  cell  where  his  faiher  was  imprisoned?  He 
did  not  wish  me  to  accompany  him  the  first  time.  What  a 
meeting  it  must  be  !  He  had  never  consciously  beheld  his 
father.  The  father  had  no  knowledge  of  his  deserted  sen. 
In  the  dungeon's  gloom,  the  living  grave  of  hope,  joy,  and 
fame,  the  recognition  would  take  place.  With  what  feelings 
would  the  poor,  blasted  criminal  behold  the  noble  boy,  on  whom 
he  had  never  bestowed  one  parental  care,  coming  like  an  angel, 
if  not  to  unbar  his  prison  doors,  to  unlock  for  him  the  golden 
gates  of  heaven ! 

I  was  too  weary  for  my  journey,  too  much  exhausted  from 
agitation  to  wait  for  Richard's  return,  but  I  could  not  lay  my 
head  on  the  pillow  before  writing  to  Mrs.  Linwood  and  Edith, 
and  telling  them  the  tidings  I  had  learned  of  the  beloved  exile. 
And  now  the  first  stormy  emotions  had  subsided,  gratitude, 
deop  and  holy  gratitude,  triumphed  over  every  other  feeling. 


412  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

Far,  far  away  as  he  was,  he  was  with  a  friend ;  he  was  in  all 
human  probability  safe,  and  he  could  learn  in  time  how  deeply 
he  had  wronged  me. 

Often,  on  bended  knees,  with  weeping  eyes  and  rending  sighs 
had  I  breathed  this  prayer,  —  "  Only  let  him  know  that  I  am 
still  worthy  of  his  love,  and  I  am  willing  to  resign  it,  —  let  me 
be  justified  in  his  sight,  and  I  am  willing  to  devote  my  future 
life  to  Thee." 

The  path  was  opening,  the  way  clearing,  and  my  faith  and 
resignation  about  to  be  proved.  I  recognized  the  divine  ar- 
rangement of  Providence  in  the  apparently  accidental  circum- 
stances of  my  life,  and  my  soul  vindicated  the  justice  as  well  an 
adored  the  mercy  of  the  Most  High. 

A  voice  seemed  whispering  in  my  ear,  "O  thou  afflicted 
and  tossed  with  tempests !  there  is  a  haven  where  thy  weary 
bark  shall  find  rest.  I,  who  once  bore  the  burden  of  life, 
know  its  sorrow?  and  temptations,  its  wormwood  and  its  gall.  I 
bore  the  infirmities  of  man,  that  I  might  pity  and  forgive  ;  I 
bore  the  crown  of  thorns,  that  thou  mightest  wear  the  roses  of 
Paradise ;  I  drained  the  dregs  of  human  agony,  that  thou 
mightest  drink  the  wine  of  immortality.  Is  not  my  love  pass- 
ing the  love  of  man,  and  worth  the  sacrifice  of  earth's  fleeting 
joys  ?  " 

As  the  heavenly  accents  seemed  to  die  away,  like  a  strain  of 
low  harmony,  came  murmuring  the  holy  refrain  — 

"  Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  the  infant  Redeemer  is  laid." 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

RICHARD  had  visited  the  Tombs,  but  had  not  seen  his  father. 
The  sight,  the  air,  the  ponderous  gloom  of  the  awful  prison- 
house,  was  as  much  as  he  had  fortitude  to  bear ;  and  though  he 
had  at  first  thought  preferred  meeting  him  in  the  shadows  of 
night,  he  recoiled  from  its  additional  horrors. 

Poor  fellow !  I  felt  heart-sick  for  him.  On  one  side  the  mem- 
ory of  his  mother's  wrongs,  —  on  the  other,  his  father's  suffer- 
ings and  disgrace.  I  knew  by  my  own  bitter  experience  the 
conflict  he  was  enduring. 

"  After  we  have  once  met,"  he  said,  "  the  bitterest  pang  will 
be  over." 

When  he  returned,  I  was  shocked  at  the  suffering  his  coun- 
tenance expressed.  I  sat  down  by  him  in  silence,  and  took  his 
hand  in  mine,  for  I  saw  that  his  heart  was  full. 

"  I  cannot  take  you  there,  Gabriella,"  were  the  first  words  he 
uttered.  "  If  my  nerves  are  all  unstrung,  how  will  yours  sus- 
tain the  shock  ?  He  told  me  not  to  bring  you,  that  your  pres- 
ence would  only  aggravate  his  sufferings." 

"  Did  I  not  come  to  share  your  duties,  Richard?  and  will  it 
not  be  easier  to  go  hand  in  hand,  though  we  do  tread  a  thorny 
path?  I  have  heard  of  women  who  devole  their  whole  lives  to 
visiting  the  dungeons  of  the  doomed,  and  pouring  oil  and 
balm  into  the  wounds  of  penitence  and  remorse  ;  women  who 
know  nothing  of  the  prisoner,  but  that  he  is  a  sinful  and  suffer- 
ing son  of  Adam, — angels  of  compassion,  following  with  lowly 
hearts  the  footsteps  of  their  divine  Master.  O  my  brother, 
think  me  not  so  weak  and  selfish.  I  will  convince  you  that  1 
have  fortitude,  though  you  believe  it  not.  Dr.  liarlowe  thinks 


414  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

I  have  a  great  deal.  But,  Richard,  is  it  too  painful  to  speak  of 
the  interview  you  so  much  dreaded  ?  Does  he  look  more 
wretched  than  you  feared  ?  " 

"  Look,  Gabriella !  Oh,  he  is  a  wreck,  a  melancholy  wreck  of 
a  once  noble  man.  Worn,  haggard,  gloomy,  and  despairing,  he 
is  the  very  personification  of  a  sin-blasted  being,  a  lost,  ruined 
spirit.  I  had  prepared  myself  for  something  mournful  and 
degraded,  but  not  for  such  a  sight  as  this.  0  what  an  awful 
thing  it  is  to  give  oneself  up  to  the  dominion  of  evil,  till  one 
seems  to  live,  and  move,  and  have  their  being  in  it !  How  awful 
to  be  consumed  by  slow,  baleful  fires,  till  nothing  but  smoulder- 
ing ashes  and  smoking  cinders  are  left !  My  God !  Gabriella,  I 
never  realized  before  what  accursed  meant." 

He  started  up,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  just  as  Er- 
nest used  to  do,  unable  to  control  the  vehemence  of  his  emo- 
tions. 

"  Father  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  how  I  could  have  loved,  revered, 
adored  my  father,  had  he  been  what  my  youthful  heart  has 
panted  to  embrace.     I  loved  my  mother,  —  Heaven  knows 
did ;  but  there  always  seemed  majesty  as  well  as  beauty  in  tl 
name  of  father,  and  I  longed  to  reverence,  as  well  as  to  lov< 
Mr.  Clyde  was  a  good  man,  and  I  honored  him  ;  he  was  mj 
benefactor,  and  I  was  grateful  to  him, —  but  he  wanted  the 
tellectual  grandeur,  to  which  my  soul  longed  to  pay  homage.     I 
was  always  forming  an  image  in  my  own  mind  of  what  a  fatht 
ehould  be,  —  pure,  upright,  and  commanding,  —  a  being  to  wh 
1  could  look  up  as  to  an  earthly  divinity,  who  could  satisfy  tl 
wants  of  my  venerating  nature." 

"  It  is  thus  I  have  done,"  I  cried,  struck  by  the  peculiar  syr 
pathy   of  our  feelings.     "In  the   dreams   of  my  childhood, 
vague  but  glorious  form  reigned  with  the  sovereignty  of  a  king 
and  the  san  :tity  of  a  high-priest,  and  imagination  offered  daily 
incense  at  its  throne.     Never,  till  I  read  my  mother's  history, 
nras   the    illusion   dispelled.     But   how  did   he   welcome   you, 
Richard?     Surely   he  was  glad  and   proud  to  find  a  son   in 
you." 

u  He  is  no  longer  capable  of  pride  or  joy      He  is  burnt  out. 


ERNEST     LI  X  WOOD.  415 

A3  it  were.  But  1  ic  did  at  last  show  some  emotion,  when  made 
to  believe  that  I  Mas  the  son  of  Theresa.  His  hand  trembled, 
and  his  hard,  sunken  eye  momentarily  softened.  "  Did  you 
Cume  here  to  mock  and  upbraid  me  ?  "  he  cried,  concealing  his 
sensibility  under  a  kind  of  fierce  sullenness.  u  What  wrong 
have  I  done  you  ?  I  deserted  you,  it  is  true,  but  I  saved  you 
from  the  influence  of  my  accursed  example,  which  might  have 
dragged  you  to  the  burning  jaws  of  hell.  Go,  and  leave  me  to 
my  doom.  Leave  me  in  the  living  grave  my  own  unhallowed 
hands  have  dug.  I  want  no  sympathy,  no  companionship,  — 
and  least  of  all,  yours.  Every  time  I  look  on  you,  I  feel  as  if 
coals  of  fire  were  eating  in  my  heart." 

"  Remorse,  Richard,"  I  exclaimed,  "  remorse  !  Oh  !  he  feels. 
Our  ministrations  will  not  be  in  vain.  Did  you  tell  him  that  I 
was  with  you,  that  I  came  to  comfort  and  to  do  him  good  ?  " 

"  I  did  ;  but  he  bade  me  tell  you,  that  if  he  wanted  comfort, 
it  could  not  come  through  you,  —  that  he  would  far  rather  his 
tortures  were  increased  than  diminished,  that  he  might,  he  said, 
become  inured  to  sufferings,  which  would  continue  as  long  as 
Almighty  vengeance  could  inflict  and  immortality  endure. 
My  dear  sister,  I  ought  not  to  repeat  such  things,  but  the  words 
ring  in  my  ears  like  a  funeral  knell." 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  him  any  more  at  present,"  he  added, 
reseating  himself  at  my  side,  and  he  took  my  hand  and  pressed 
it  on  his  throbbing  temples.  "  There  is  sweetness  in  a  sister's 
sympathy,  balm  in  her  gentle  touch." 

Mrs.  Brahan,  who  had  considerately  left  us  alone,  soon  en- 
tered, saying  it  was  luncheon  time,  and  that  a  glass  of  wine 
•would  do  us  all  good.  Mr.  Brahan  followed  her,  whose  intelli- 
gent and  animated  conversation  drew  our  minds  from  the  sub- 
jects that  engrossed  our  thoughts.  It  was  well  for  me  that  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  becoming  so  intimately  acquainted  with 
a  married  pair  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brahan.  It  convinced  me 
that  the  most  perfect  confidence  was  compatible  with  the  fondest 
love,  and  that  the  purest  happiness  earth  is  capable  of  impart- 
ing, is  found  in  the  union  of  two  constant,  trusting  hearts. 

44  We  have  been  married  seventeen  years,"  said  Mrs.  Bra- 


416  FRNE3T     LINWOOD. 

ban,  in  a  glow  of  grateful  affection,  "  and  I  have  never  seen  a 
cloud  of  distrust  on  my  husband's  brow.  We  have  had  cares,  — 
as  who  has  not,  —  but  they  have  only  made  us  more  dear  to  each 
other,  by  calling  forth  mutual  tenderness  and  sympathy.  Ours 
was  not  one  of  those  romantic  attachments  which  partake  of  the 
wildness  of  insanity,  but  a  serene,  steady  flame,  that  burns 
brighter  and  brighter  as  life  rolls  on." 

She  spoke  out  of  the  abundance  of  her  heart,  without  mean- 
ing to  contrast  her  own  bright  lot  with  mine,  but  I  could  not 
help  envying  her  this  unclouded  sunshine  of  love.  I  tried  to 
rejoice  with  her,  without  sighing  for  my  own  darker  destiny ; 
but  there  is  an  alloy  of  selfishness  in  the  purest  gold  of  our 
natures.  At  least,  there  is  in  mine. 

There  was  another  happy  pair,  —  Mr.  Regulus  and  his  wild 
Madge.  A  letter  from  her,  forwarded  by  Mrs.  Linwood  soon 
after  our  arrival  in  New  York,  breathed,  in  her  own  character- 
istic language,  the  most  perfect  felicity,  mingled  with  heartfelt 
sympathy  and  affection.  Their  bridal  hours  were  saddened  by 
my  misfortunes;  and  they  were  compelled  to  leave  me  when  I 
was  unconscious  of  their  departure.  Margaret  was  delighted 
with  every  thing  around  and  about  her,  —  the  place,  the  people, 
and  most  of  all  her  husband ;  though,  in  imitation  of  the 
Swedish  wife,  she  called  him  her  bear,  her  buffalo,  and  masta- 
4on.  The  exuberant  energies  of  her  character,  that  had  been 
rioting  in  all  their  native  wildness,  had  now  a  noble  framework 
to  grasp  round,  and  would  in  lime  form  a  beautiful  domestic 
bower,  beneath  whose  shade  all  household  joys  and  graces 
would  bloom  and  multiply. 

I  have  anticipated  the  reception  of  this  letter,  but  I  feared  I 
might  forget  to  mention  it.  It  is  delightful  to  see  a  fine  charac- 
ter gradually  wrought  out  of  seemingly  rough  and  unpromising 
elements.  It  is  beautiful  to  witness  the  triumph  of  pure,  dis- 
interested affection  in  the  heart  of  woman.  It  is  sweet  to  know 
that  the  angel  of  wedded  love  scatters  thornless  flowers  in  some 
happy  homes,  —  that  there  are  some  thresholds  not  sprinkled 
by  blood,  but  guarded  by  confidence,  which  the  destroying  demon 
of  tl  i  household  is  not  permitted  to  pass  over. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  417 

I  do  not  like  to  turn  back  to  myself,  lest  they  who  follow  me 
should  find  the  path  too  shadowy  and  thorny.  But  is  it  not 
eaid  that  they  who  go  forth  weeping,  bearing  precious  seed, 
shall  come  again  rejoicing,  bending  under  the  weight  of  golden 
sheaves  ? 

I  wrote  to  Ernest  for  the  first  time,  for  we  had  never  been 
parted  before.  Again  and  again  I  commenced,  and  threw  down 
the  pen  in  despair.  My  heart  seemed  locked,  closed  as  with 
Bastile  bars.  What  words  of  mine  could  pierce  through  the 
cloud  of  infamy  in  which  his  remembrance  wrapped  me?  He 
would  not  believe  my  strange,  improbable  tale.  He  would  cast 
it  trom  him  as  a  device  of  the  evil  spirit,  and  brand  me  with  a 
deeper  curse.  No  !  if  he  was  so  willing  to  cast  me  off,  to  leave 
me  so  coldly  and  cruelly,  without  one  farewell  line,  one  wish  to 
know  whether  I  were  living  or  dead,  let  him  be.  Why  should 
I  intrude  my  vindication  on  him,  when  he  cared  not  to  hear  it  ? 
He  had  no  right  to  believe  me  guilty.  Had  a  winged  spirit 
from  another  sphere  come  and  told  me  that  he  was  false,  I  would 
have  spurned  the  accusation,  and  clung  to  him  more  closely  and 
more  confidingly. 

"  But  you  knew  his  infirmity,"  whispered  accusing  conscience, 
"  even  before  you  loved  him ;  and  have  you  not  seen  him  writh- 
ing at  your  feet  in  agonies  of  remorse,  for  the  indulgence  of 
passions  more  torturing  to  himself  than  to  you !  It  is  you  who 
have  driven  him  from  country  and  home,  innocently,  it  is  true, 
but  he  is  not  less  a  wanderer  and  an  exile.  Write  and  tell 
him  the  simple,  holy  truth,  then  folding  your  hands  meekly  over 
your  heart,  leave  the  result  to  the  disposal  of  the  God  of  futu- 
rity." 

Then  words  came  like  water  rushing  through  breaking  ice. 
They  came  without  effort  or  volition,  and  I  knew  not  what  they 
were  till  I  saw  them  looking  at  me  from  the  paper,  like  my 
own  image  reflected  in  a  glass.  Had  I  been  writing  a  page  for 
the  book  of  God's  remembrance,  it  could  not  have  been  more 
nakedly  true.  I  do  believe  there  is  inspiration  now  given  to 
the  spit  it  in  the  extremity  of  its  need,  and  that  we  often  speak 
and  Trite  as  if  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  language  cornea 


418  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

to  us  in  a  Pentecostal  shower,  burning  with  heaven's  fire,  and 
tongues  of  flame  are  put  in  our  mouth,  and  our  spirits  move  aa 
with  the  wings  of  a  mighty  wind. 

I  recollect  the  closing  sentence  of  the  letter.  I  knew  it  con- 
tained my  fate ;  and  yet  I  felt  that  I  had  not  the  power  to 
change  it. 

"  Come  back  to  your  country,  your  mother,  and  Edith.  I  do 
not  bid  you  come  back  to  me,  for  it  seems  that  the  distance  that 
separates  us  is  too  immeasurable  to  be  overcome.  I  remember 
telling  you,  when  the  midnight  moon  was  shining  upon  us  in 
the  solitude  of  our  chamber,  that  I  saw  as  in  a  vision  a  fright- 
ful abyss  opening  between  us,  and  I  stood  on  one  icy  brink  and 
you  on  the  other,  and  I  saw  you  receding  further  and  further 
from  me,  and  my  arms  vainly  sought  to  reach  over  the  cold 
chasm,  and  my  own  voice  came  back  to  me  in  mournful  echoes. 
That  vision  is  realized.  Our  hearts  can  never  again  meet  till 
that  gulf  is  closed,  and  confidence  firm  as  a  rock  makes  a  bridge 
for  our  souls. 

"  I  have  loved  you  as  man  never  should  be  loved,  and  that 
love  can  never  pass  away.  But  from  the  deathlike  trance  in 
which  you  left  me,  my  spirit  has  risen  with  holier  views  of  life 
and  its  duties.  An  union,  so  desolated  by  storms  of  passion  as 
ours  has  been,  must  be  sinful  and  unhallowed  in  the  sight  oi 
God.  It  has  been  severed  by  the  hand  of  violence,  and  never, 
with  my  consent,  will  be  renewed,  unless  we  can  make  a  new 
covenant,  to  which  the  bow  of  heaven's  peace  shall  be  an  ever- 
lasting sign  ;  till  passion  shall  be  exalted  by  esteem,  love  sus- 
tained by  confidence,  and  religion  pure  and  undefiled  b«  the 
*ovcTiugu  principle  of  our  lives." 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

THE  Tombs  !  —  shall  I  ever  forget  ray  first  visit  to  that  dis- 
mal abode  of  crime,  woe,  and  despair  ?  —  never  ! 

I  had  nerved  myself  for  the  trial,  and  went  with  the  spirit 
of  a  martyr,  though  with  blanched  cheek  and  faltering  step, 
into  the  heart  of  that  frowning  pile,  on  which  I  could  never 
gaze  without  shuddering. 

Clinging  to  the  arm  of  Richard,  I  felt  myself  borne  along 
through  cold  and  dreary  walls,  that  seemed  to  my  startled  ear 
echoing  with  sighs  and  groans  and  curses,  upward  through 
dark  galleries,  and  passed  ponderous  iron  doors  that  reminded 
me  of  Milton's  description  of  the  gates  of  hell,  till  the  prison 
officer  who  preceded  us  paused  before  one  of  those  grim  por- 
tals, and  inserting  a  massy  key,  a  heavy  grating  sound  scraped 
and  lacerated  my  ear. 

"  Wait  one  moment,"  I  gasped,  leaning  almost  powerless  on 
the  shoulder  of  Richard. 

"  I  feared  so,"  said  he,  passing  his  arm  around  me,  his  eyes 
expressing  the  most  intense  sensibility.  "  I  knew  you  could  not 
bear  it.  Let  us  return,  —  I  was  wrong  to  permit  your  coming 
in  the  first  place." 

"  No,  no,  —  I  am  able  to  go  in  now,  —  the  shock  is  over,  — -  I 
am  quite  strong  now." 

And  raising  my  head,  I  drew  a  quick,  painful  breath,  passed 
through  the  iron  door  into  the  narrow  cell,  where  the  gloom  of 
eternal  twilight  darkly  hung. 

At  first  I  could  not  distinguish  the  objects  within,  for  a  mist 
was  over  my  sight,  which  deepened  the  shadows  of  the  dungeon 
walls.  But  as  my  eye  became  accustomed  to  the  dimness,  I 
27  U19) 


420  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

saw  a  tall,  emaciated  figure  rising  from  the  bed,  which  nearly 
filled  the  limited  space  which  inclosed  us.  A  narrow  aperture 
in  the  deep,  massy  stone,  admitted  all  the  light  which  illumined 
us  after  the  iron  door  slowly  closed. 

The  dark,  sunken  eyes  of  the  prisoner  gleamed  like  the 
flash  of  an  expiring  taper,  wild  and  fitful,  on  our  entering 
forms.  He  was  dreadfully  altered,  —  I  should  scarcely  have 
recognized  him  through  the  gloomy  shade  of  his  long-neglected 
hair,  and  thick,  unshorn  beard. 

"  Father,"  said  Richard,  trying  to  speak  in  a  cheerful  tone, 
"  I  have  brought  you  a  comforter.  A  daughter's  presence 
must  be  more  soothing  than  a  son's." 

I  held  out  my  hand  as  Richard  spoke,  and  he  took  it  as  if  it 
were  marble.  No  tenderness  softened  his  countenance,  —  he 
rather  seemed  to  recoil  from  me  than  to  welcome.  I  noticed  a 
great  difference  in  his  reception  of  Richard.  He  grasped  his 
hand,  and  perused  his  features  as  if  he  could  not  withdraw  his 
gaze. 

"  Are  you  indeed  my  son  ?  "  he  asked,  in  an  unsteady  tone. 
"  Do  you  not  mock  me  ?  Tell  me  once  more,  are  you  Theresa's 
child  ?  " 

"  As  surely  as  I  believe  her  an  angel  in  heaven,  I  am." 

"  Yes,  —  yes,  you  have  her  brow  and  smile ;  but  why  havs 
you  come  to  me  again,  when  I  commanded  you  to  stay  away  ? 
And  why  have  you  brought  this  pale  girl  here,  when  she  loathes 
me  as  an  incarnate  fiend  ?  " 

"  No,  —  no,"  I  exclaimed,  sinking  down  on  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  in  hopelessness  of  spirit,  "  I  pity,  forgive,  pray  for  you, 
weep  for  you." 

"  I  want  neither  pity,  forgiveness,  nor  prayers,"  he  sullenly 
answered.  "  I  want  nothing  but  freedom,  and  that  you  cannot 
give.  Go  back  to  your  husband,  and  tell  him  I  curse  him  for 
the  riches  that  tempted  me,  and  you  for  the  jewels  that  betrayed. 
You  might  have  given  me  gold  instead  of  diamonds,  and  then  I 
•would  have  been  safe  from  the  hell-hounds  of  law.  Curse  on 
the  sordid  fear  "  — 

"  Stop,"  cried  Richard,  seizing  the  arm  he  had  raised  in  im- 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  421 

precation,  and  fixing  on  him  an  eye  of  stern  command.  "  YJU 
shall  not  wound  her  ears  with  such  foul  blasphemy.  Uttef 
another  word  of  reproach  to  her,  and  I  will  leave  you  for  ever 
to  the  doom  you  merit.  Is  this  the  return  you  make  for  her 
filial  devotion  ?  Betrayer  of  her  mother,  robber  of  her  hus- 
band, coward  as  well  as  villain,  how  dare  you  blast  her  with 
your  impious  curse  ?  " 

Richard  forgot  at  that  moment  he  was  speaking  to  a  father 
in  the  intensity  of  his  indignation  and  scorn.  His  eye  burned, 
his  lip  quivered,  he  looked  as  if  he  could  have  hurled  him 
against  the  granite  walls. 

St.  James  quailed  and  writhed  out  of  his  grasp.  His  face 
turned  the  hue  of  ashes,  and  he  staggered  back  like  a  drunken 
man. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  curse  her,"  he  cried.  "  I  am  mad  half  the 
time,  and  know  not  what  I  say.  Who  would  not  be  mad,  cut 
off  from  communion  with  their  kind,  in  such  a  den  as  this,  with 
fiends  whispering,  and  devils  tempting,  and  know  that  it  is  not 
for  a  day,  a  week,  a  month,  nor  even  a  year ;  but  for  ten  long 
years !  And  what  will  life  be  then,  supposing  I  drag  out  its 
hated  length  through  imprisonment,  and  horror,  and  despair  ? 
"What  is  it  now  ?  A  worn  shred,  a  snivelled  scroll,  a  blasted 
remnant  of  humanity  !  " 

He  sat  down  again  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  leaning  for- 
ward, bent  his  face  downward  and  buried  it  in  his  hands. 
Groans,  that  seemed  to  tear  his  breast  as  they  forced  their  pas- 
sage, burst  spasmodically  from  his  lips.  Oh  !  if  that  travailing 
soul,  travailing  in  sin  and  sorrow,  would  cast  itself  on  the 
bosom  of  Divine  Mercy,  would  prostrate  itself  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  till  the  scarlet  dye  of  crime  was  washed  white  in  a  Sav- 
iour's blood !  What  were  ten  years  of  imprisonment  and  an- 
guish, to  eternal  ages  burning  with  the  unquenchable  fires  of 
remorse  ! 

"  O  father ! "  I  cried,  moved  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  and 
approaching  him  with  trembling  steps,  "  these  prison  walls  may 
become  the  house  of  God,  the  gate  of  heaven,  dark  and  dismal 
as  they  are.  The  Saviour  will  come  and  dwell  with  you,  if 


/22  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

you  only  look  up  to  him  in  penitence  and  faith  ;  and  he  will 
make  them  blissful  with  his  presence.  He  went  into  the  den 
of  lions.  He  walked  through  the  fiery  furnace.  He  can  rend 
these  iron  doors  and  give  you  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  chil- 
dren of  God.  If  I  could  only  speak  as  I  feel,  if  I  only  knew 
how  to  convince  and  persuade ;  —  but  alas !  my  tongue  is  weak, 
my  words  are  cold.  Richard  will  you  not  help  me  ?  " 

"  If  he  will  not  listen  to  you,  Gabriella,  he  would  not  be  per- 
suaded though  an  angel  spoke." 

"  Why  do  you  care  about  my  soul  ?  "  asked  the  prisoner,  lift- 
ing his  head  from  his  knees,  and  rolling  his  bloodshot  eyes  upon 
me. 

"  Because  you  are  my  father,"  I  answered,  —  overcoming  my 
trepidation,  and  speaking  with  fervor  and  energy,  —  "  because 
my  mother  prayed  for  you,  and  my  Saviour  died  for  you." 

"  Your  mother ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  who  was  she,  that  she 
should  pray  for  me  ?  " 

"  My  mother ! "  I  repeated,  fearing  his  mind  was  becoming 
unsettled ;  "  if  you  have  forgotten  her,  I  do  not  wish  to  recall 
her." 

"I  remember  now,  —  her  name  was  Rosalie,"  he  said,  and  a 
strange  expression  passed  over  his  countenance.  "  I  was  think- 
ing of  my  poor  Theresa." 

He  looked  at  Richard  as  he  spoke,  and  something  like  paren- 
tal tenderness  softened  his  features.  Degraded  as  he  was,  un- 
worthy as  it  seemed  he  must  ever  have  been  of  woman's  love,  I 
could  not  help  a  pang  of  exquisite  pain  at  the  thought  of  my 
mother's  being  forgotten,  while  Theresa  was  remembered  with 
apparent  tenderness.  When  I  met  him  in  the  Park,  he  expressed 
exceeding  love  for  me  for  her  sake,  —  he  spoke  of  her  as  the 
beloved  of  his  youth,  as  the  being  whose  loss  had  driven  him  to 
desperation  and  made  him  the  wretch  and  outcast  he  was.  And 
now,  no  chord  of  remembrance  vibrated  at  her  name,  no  ray  of 
fondness  for  her  child  played  upon  the  sacrifice  I  was  offering. 
It  was  a  sordid  deception  then,  —  his  pretended  tenderness,  —  tc 
gain  access  to  my  husband's  gold ;  and  I  turned,  heart-sick  and 
loathing  away.  As  I  did  so,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  book  that 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  423 

looked  like  the  Bible  on  a  little  table,  between  the  bed  and  the 
wall.  With  an  involuntary  motion  I  reached  forward  and 
opened  it. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  I  cried,  looking  at  Richard.  "  I  wanted  to 
bring  one  ;  but  I  thought  I  would  ask  permission." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  St.  James,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  "  we  all 
have  Bibles,  I  believe.  Like  the  priest's  blessing,  they  3ost 
nothing." 

"  But  you  read  it,  father !  "  said  Richard,  anxiously.  "  You 
cannot  fail  to  find  light  and  comfort  in  it.  You  cannot  be 
altogether  lonely  with  such  a  companion." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  reading  what  one  cannot  understand  ?  " 
cried  he,  in  a  gloomy  tone.  "  Your  mother  was  a  Catholic. 
She  did  not  read  the  Bible,  and  if  there  is  a  heaven  above,  it 
was  made  for  such  as  she." 

"My  mother  did  read  her  Bible,"  answered  Richard,  with 
solemnity.  "  She  taught  me  to  read  it,  making  a  table  of  her 
knees,  while  her  hands  toiled  for  our  subsistence.  It  was  a 
lamp  to  her  path,  a  balm  to  her  sorrows.  She  lived  accord- 
ing to  its  precepts.  She  died,  believing  in  its  promise?  " 

The  glistening  eyes  of  Richard  seemed  to  magnetize  hi 
father,  so  earnest,  so  steadfast  was  his  gaze. 

"  Have  you  her  Bible  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  husky  voico* 

"  I  have  ;  it  was  her  dying  gift." 

"  Bring  it,  and  read  to  me  the  chapters  she  loved  best.  Per- 
haps —  who  knows  ?  Great  God  !  I  was  once  a  praying  child 
at  my  mother's  knee." 

Richard  grasped  his  father's  hand  with  a  strong  emotion. 

"  I  will  bring  it,  father.  We  will  read  it  together,  and  her 
spirit  will  breathe  into  our  hearts.  The  pages  are  marked  by 
her  pencil,  blistered  by  her  tears." 

"  Yes,  bring  it ! "  he  repeated.  "  Who  knows  ?  Just  heaven  ! 
—  who  knows  ?  " 

Who,  indeed,  did  know  what  influence  that  book,  embalmed 
in  such  sacred  memories,  might  have  on  the  sinner's  blasted 
heart  ?  The  fierceness  and  sullenness  that  had  repelled  and  tei 
rified  me  on  our  first  entrance  had  passed  away,  and  sensibility 


424  ERNEST      LIN  WOOD. 

roused  from  an  awful  paralysis,  started  at  the  ruins  it  beheld. 
There  was  hope,  since  he  could  feel.  Richard's  filial  mission 
might  not  be  in  vain.  But  mine  was.  I  realized  this  before  I 
left  the  cell,  and  resolved  to  yield  to  him  the  task  which  I  had 
hoped  to  share.  I  could  not  help  feeling  grieved  and  disap- 
pointed, not  so  much  on  my  own  account,  as  for  the  indifference 
manifested  to  my  mother's  memory, — that  mother  Avho  haa 
loved  him,  even  to  her  dying  hour. 

My  heart  hardened  against  him  ;  but  when  I  rose  to  go,  and 
looked  round  on  the  narrow  and  dismal  tomb  in  which  he  was 
inclosed,  and  then  on  his  hollow  cheek  and  wasted  frame,  and 
thought  in  all  human  probability  those  walls  would  prove  his 
grave,  it  melted  with  the  tenderest  compassion. 

"Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  your  comfort?"  I  asked, 
trying  in  vain  to  keep  back  the  rushing  tears.  "  Can  I  send 
you  any  thing  to  do  you  good  ?  If  you  wish  to  see  me  again, 
tell  Richard,  and  I  will  come ;  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be  in  the 
way.  He,  I  see,  can  do  every  thing  I  could  do,  and  far 
more.  I  thought  a  daughter  could  draw  so  near  a  father's 
heart ! " 

I  stopped,  choked  with  emotion  which  seemed  contagious,  for 
Richard  turned  aside  and  took  up  his  handkerchief,  which  had 
dropped  upon  the  bed.  St.  James  was  agitated.  He  gave  the 
hand  which  I  extended  a  spasmodic  pressure,  and  looked  from 
me  to  Richard,  and  then  back  again,  with  a  peculiar,  hesitating 
expression. 

"  Forgive  ine,"  said  he,  in  a  gentler  accent  than  I  had  yet 
heard  him  use,  "  my  harsh,  fierce  words ;  as  I  told  you,  it  was  a 
demon's  utterance,  not  mine.  You  would  have  saved  me,  I 
knew  you  would.  I  made  you  unhappy,  and  plunged  into  per- 
dition myself.  No,  you  had  better  not  come  again.  You  are 
too  lovely,  too  tender  for  this  grim  place.  My  boy  will  come  ; 
and  you,  you,  my  child,  may  pray  for  me,  if  you  do  not  think 
it  mockery  to  ask  God  to  paruon  a  wretch  like  me." 

I  looked  in  his  face,  inexpressibly  affected  by  the  unexpected 
gentleness  of  his  words  and  manner.  Surely  the  spirit  of  God 
was  beginning  to  move  over  the  stagnant  waters  of  sin  and 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  425 

despair.  I  was  about  to  leave  him, — the  lonely,  —  the  doomed. 
I,  too,  was  lonely  and  doomed. 

"  Father  ! "  I  cried,  and  with  an  impulse  of  pity  and  anguish 
I  threw  my  arms  round  him  and  wept  as  if  my  heart  was 
breaking ;  "  I  would  willingly  wear  out  my  life  in  prayer  for 
you,  but  O,  pray  for  yourself.  One  prayer  from  your  heart 
would  be  worth  ten  thousand  of  mine." 

I  thought  not  of  the  haggard  form  I  was  embracing  ;  I 
thought  of  the  immortal  soul  that  inhabited  it ;  and  it  seemed  a 
sacred  ruin.  He  clasped  me  convulsively  to  him  one  moment, 
then  suddenly  withdrawing  his  arms,  he  pushed  me  towards 
Richard,  —  not  harshly,  but  as  if  bidding  him  take  care  of  me  ; 
and  throwing  himself  on  the  bed,  he  turned  his  face  downward, 
so  that  his  long  black  hair  covered  it  from  sight. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Richard,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  we  had  better 
leave  him  now." 

As  we  were  passing  very  softly  out  of-  the  cell,  he  raised  hig 
Bead  partially,  and  calling  to  Richard,  said,  — 

"  Come  back,  my  son,  to-morrow.  I  have  something  to  tell 
you.  I  ought  to  do  it  now,  while  you  are  both  here,  but  to- 
morrow will  do  ;  and  do  n't  forget  your  mother's  Bible." 

Again  we  traversed  the  stone  galleries,  the  dismal  stairs,  and 
our  footsteps  left  behind  us  a  cold,  sepulchral  sound.  Neither 
of  us  spoke,  for  a  kind  of  funeral  silence  solemnized  our  hearts. 
I  looked  at  one  of  the  figures  that  were  gliding  along  the  upper 
galleries,  though  there  were  many  of  them,  —  prisoners,  who 
being  condemned  for  lighter  offences  than  murder  or  forgery, 
were  allowed  to  walk  under  the  eye  of  a  keeper.  I  was  con- 
scious of  passing  them,  but  they  only  seemed  to  deepen  the 
gloom,  like  ravens  and  bats  flapping  their  wings  in  a  deserted 
tower. 

As  we  came  into  the  light  of  day,  which,  struggling  through 
massy  ridges  of  darkness,  burst  between  the  grand  and  gloomy 
columns  that  supported  the  fabric,  I  felt  as  if  a  great  stone  were 
rolling  from  my  breast.  I  raised  the  veil,  which  I  had  drawii 
closely  over  my  face,  to  inhale  the  air  that  flowed  from  the 


426  ERNEST     LI  X  WOOD. 

world  withcut.  I  was  coming  out  of  darkness  into  light,  ou<  >f 
imprisonment  into  freedom,  sunshine,  and  the  breath  of  heaven. 

There  were  men  traversing  the  vestibule  in  many  directions ; 
and  Richard  hurried  me  on,  that  I  might  escape  the  gaze  of 
curiosity  or  the  stare  of  impertinence.  Against  one  of  the  pil- 
lars which  we  passed,  a  gentleman  was  standing,  whose  figure 
was  so  striking  as  to  attract  my  abstracted  eye.  I  had  seen 
him  before.  I  knew  him  instantaneously,  though  I  had  only 
had  a  passing  glimpse  of  him  the  morning  we  left  the  Falls.  It 
was  the  gentleman  who  had  accosted  Julian,  and  who  had  stamped 
himself  so  indelibly  on  my  memory.  And  now,  as  I  came 
nearer,  I  was  struck  by  a  resemblance  in  his  air  and  features  to 
our  unhappy  father.  It  is  true  there  was  the  kind  of  difference 
there  is  between  a  fallen  spirit  and  an  angel  of  light ;  for  the 
expression  of  the  stranger's  face  was  noble  and  dignified,  as  if 
conscious  that  he  still  wore  undefaced  the  image  of  his  Maker. 
He  lifted  his  hat  as  we  passed,  with  that  graceful  courtesy 
which  marks  the  gentleman,  and  I  again  noticed  that  the  dark 
waves  of  his  hair  were  mingled  with  snow.  It  reminded  me 
of  those  wreaths  of  frost  I  had  seen  hanging  from  the  ever- 
greens of  Grandison  Place. 

The  singularity  of  the  place,  the  earnestness  of  his  gaze,  and 
the  extraordinary  attraction  I  felt  towards  him,  brought  the 
warm,  bright  color  to  my  cheeks,  and  I  instinctively  dropped 
the  veil  which  I  had  raised  a  moment  before.  As  we  entered 
the  carriage,  which  had  been  kept  in  waiting,  the  horses,  high- 
spirited  and  impatient,  threatened  to  break  loose  from  the 
driver's  control,  —  when  the  stranger,  coming  rapidly  forward, 
stood  at  their  heads  till  their  transient  rebellion  was  over.  It 
was  but  an  instant ;  for  as  Richard  leaned  from  the  carriage 
window  to  thank  him,  the  horses  dashed  forward,  and  I  only 
caught  one  more  glimpse  of  his  fine,  though  pensive  features. 

"  Richard,  did  you  not  perceive  a  resemblance  to  our  father 
in  this  gentleman,  noble  and  distinguished  as  he  appears  ?  I 
was  struck  with  it  at  the  first  glance." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  likeness ;  but  not  greater  than  we  very  often 


ERNEST     LINTVOOD.  427 

see  strangers  bearing  to  each  other.  My  father  must  once  have 
been  a  fine  looking  man,  though  now  so  sad  a  wreck.  A  life 
of  sinful  indulgence,  followed  by  remorse  and  retribution,  leaves 
terrible  scars  on  the  face  as  well  as  the  soul." 

"  But  how  strange  it  is,  that  we  are  sometimes  so  drawn  to 
wards  strangers,  as  by  a  loadstone's  power !  I  saw  this  gentle- 
man once  before,  at  the  Falls  of  Niagara,  and  I  felt  the  same 
sudden  attraction  that  I  do  now.  I  may  never  see  him  again. 
It  is  not  probable  that  I  ever  shall ;  but  it  will  be  impossible 
for  me  to  forget  him.  I  feel  as  if  he  must  have  some  influence 
on  my  destiny ;  and  such  a  confidence  in  his  noble  qualities, 
that  if  I  were  in  danger  I  would  appeal  to  him  for  protection, 
and  in  sorrow,  for  sympathy  and  consolation.  You  smile, 
Richard.  I  dare  say  it  all  sounds  foolish  to  you,  but  it  is  even 
so." 

"  Not  foolish,  but  romantic,  my  own  darling  sister.  I  like 
such  sentiments.  I  like  any  thing  better  than  the  stereotyped 
thoughts  of  the  world.  You  have  a  right  to  be  romantic,  Ga- 
briella,  for  your  life  has  been  one  of  strange  and  thrilling 
interest." 

"  Yes  ;  strange  indeed ! "  I  answered,  while  my  soul  rolled 
back  on  the  billows  of  the  past,  wondering  at  the  storms  that 
heaved  them  so  high,  when  life  to  many  seemed  smooth  as  a 
sea  of  glass.  Then  I  thought  how  sweet  the  haven  of  eternal 
repose  must  be  to  the  wave-worn  mariner ;  how  much  sweeter 
to  one  who  had  Kad  a  tempestuous  voyage,  than  one  who  had 
been  floating  on  a  tranquil  current ;  and  the  closing  \  erse  of  an 
old  hymn  came  melodiously  to  my  recollection  :  — 

"  There  will  I  bathe  ray  weary  soul 

In  seas  of  endless  rest, 
And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roll 
Across  my  peaceful  breast." 


CHAPTER     LV. 

WHAT  a  contrast  did  the  large,  airy,  pleasant  nursery  room 
of  Mrs.  Brahan  present,  to  the  narrow  cell  I  had  so  lately 
quitted  !  I  accompanied  her  there  after  dinner,  while  Eichard, 
anxious  to  follow  up  the  impression  he  had  made,  returned  to 
the  prison,  taking  with  him  his  mother's  Bible.  I  had  hardly 
thought  of  the  communication  which  he  said  he  wished  to  make, 
till  I  saw  Richard  depart.  Then  it  recuired  to  me  ;  but  it  did 
not  seem  possible  that  it  could  interest  or  affect  me  much,  though 
it  might  my  brother. 

I  have  not  spoken  of  Mrs.  Brahan's  children,  because  I  have 
had  so  much  to  say  of  others ;  but  she  had  children,  and  very 
lovely  ones,  who  were  the  crowning  blessings  of  her  home. 
Her  eldest  were  at  school,  but  there  were  three  inmates  of  the 
nursery,  from  five  to  ten  years  of  age,  adorned  with  the  sweetest 
charms  of  childhood,  brightness,  purity,  and  bloom.  She  called 
them  playfully  her  three  little  graces ;  and  I  never  admired  her 
so  much,  as  when  she  made  herself  a  child  in  their  midst,  and 
participated  in  their  innocent  amusements.  After  supper  they 
were  brought  into  the  parlor  to  be  companions  of  their  father 
one  hour,  which  he  devoted  exclusively  to  their  instruction  and 
recreation;  but  after  dinner  Mrs.  Brahan  took  the  place  of 
the  nurse,  or  rather  governess,  and  I  felt  it  a  privilege  to  be 
with  her,  it  made  me  feel  so  entirely  at  home,  and  the  presence 
of  childhood  freshened  and  enlivened  the  spirits.  It  seemed  as 
if  fairy  fingers  were  scattering  rose-leaves  on  my  heart.  Was 
it  possible  that  these  young,  innocent  creatures  would  ever  be- 
come hardened  by  worldliness,  polluted  by  sin,  or  saddened  by 
9  *rrow  ?  And  yet  the  doomed  dweller  of  the  Tombs  had  said 

(428) 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  429 

that  morning,  "  that  he  was  once  a  praying  child  at  his  mother's 
knee  !  "  How  would  that  mother  have  felt,  if,  when  his  inno- 
cent hands  were  folded  on  her  lap  and  his  cherub  lips  repeated 
words  which  perhaps  angels  interpreted,  she  could  have  looked 
into  future  years,  arid  beheld  the  condemned  and  blasted  being 
in  whose  withering  veins  her  own  lifeblood  was  flowing  ? 

While  I  was  reclining  on  the  children's  bed  and  the  youngest 
little  girl  was  playing  with  my  ringlets,  as  short  and  childish  as 
her  own,  I  was  told  a  gentleman  was  in  the  parlor,  who  inquired 
for  me. 

"Cannot  I  excuse  myself?"  Tasked  of  Mrs.  Brahan.  "I 
did  not  wish  any  one  to  know  that  I  was  in  the  city.  I  did  not 
wish  to  meet  any  of  my  former  acquaintances." 

Then  it  suddenly  flashed  into  my  mind,  that  it  might  be  some 
one  who  brought  tidings  of  Ernest,  some  one  who  had  met  the 
"  Star  of  the  East,"  on  his  homeward  voyage.  There  was 
nothing  wild  in  the  idea,  and  when  I  mentioned  it  to  Mrs.  Bra- 
han, she  said  it  was  possible,  and  that  I  had  better  go  down. 
Supposing  it  was  a  messenger  of  evil !  I  felt  as  if  I  had  borne 
all  I  could  bear,  and  live.  Then  all  at  once  I  thought  of  the 
stranger  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  vestibule  of  the  prison,  and  I 
was  sure  it  was  he.  But  who  was  he,  and  why  had  he  come  ? 
I  was  obliged  to  stop  at  the  door,  to  command  my  agitation,  so 
nervous  had  I  been  made  by  the  shock  from  which  I  had  not 
yet  recovered.  My  cheeks  burned,  but  my  hands  were  cold 
as  ice. 

Yes,  it  was  he.  The  moment  I  opened  the  door,  I  recognized 
him,  the  stately  stranger  of  the  Tombs.  He  was  standing  in 
front  of  the  beautiful  painting  of  the  fortress,  and  his  face  was 
from  me.  But  he  turned  at  my  entrance,  and  advanced  eagerly 
to  meet  me.  He  was  excessively  pale,  and  v.arying  emotions 
swept  over  his  countenance,  like  clouds  drifted  by  a  stormy 
wind.  Taking  both  my  hands  in  his,  he  drew  me  towards  him, 
with  a  movement  I  had  no  power  to  resist,  and  looked  in  my 
face  with  eyes  in  which  every  passion  of  the  soul  seemed  con- 
centrated, but  in  which  joy  like  a  sun-ray  shone  triumphant. 

Even  before  he  opened  his   arms   and  clasped  me  to  hia 


430  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

bosom,  I  felt  an  invisible  power  drawing  me  to  his  heart,  and 
telling  me  I  had  a  right  to  be  there. 

"  Gabriella  !  child  of  my  Rosalie  !  my  own  lost  darling  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  in  broken  accents,  folding  me  closer  and  closer 
in  his  arms,  as  if  fearing  I  would  vanish  from  his  embrace. 
"  Gracious  God  !  I  thank  thee,  —  Heavenly  Father  !  I  bless 
thee  for  this  hour.  After  long  years  of  mourning,  and  bereave' 
merit,  and  loneliness,  to  find  a  treasure  so  dear,  to  feel  a  joy  so 
holy  !  Oh,  my  God,  what  shall  I  render  unto  Thee  for  all  thy 
benefits ! " 

Then  he  bowed  his  head  on  my  neck,  and  I  felt  hot  tears 
gushing  from  his  eyes,  and  sobs,  like  the  deep,  passionate  sobs 
of  childhood,  convulsing  his  breast. 

Yes,  he  was  my  father.  I  knew  it,  —  I  felt  it,  as  if  the 
voice  of  God  had  spoken  from  the  clouds  of  heaven  to  pro- 
claim it.  He  was  my  father,  the  beloved  of  my  angelic 
mother,  and  he  had  never  wronged  her,  never.  He  had  not 
been  the  deceiver,  but  the  deceived.  Without  a  word  of  ex- 
planation I  believed  this,  for  it  was  written  as  if  in  sunbeams 
on  his  noble  brow.  The  dreams  of  my  childhood  were  all 
embodied  in  him  ;  and  overpowered  by  reverence,  love,  gratitude, 
and  joy,  I  slid  from  his  arms,  and  on  bended  knees  and  with 
clasped  hands,  looked  up  in  his  face  and  repeated  again  and 
again  the  sacred  name  of  "  Father." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  such  bewildering,  such  intense 
emotions.  Seldom,  except  in  dreams,  are  they  felt,  when  the 
spirit  seems  free  from  the  fetters  of  earth.  Even  when  I  found 
myself  sitting  by  his  side,  still  encircled  in  his  arms  and  lean- 
ing on  his  heart,  I  could  scarcely  convince  myself  that  the 
scene  was  real. 

"  And  Richard,  my  brother ! "  I  cried,  beginning  to  feel  be- 
wildered at  the  mysteries  that  were  to  be  unravelled;  "joy  is 
not  perfect  till  he  shares  it  with  me." 

"  Will  it  make  you  unhappy,  my  darling  Gabriella,  to  know 
that  Richard  is  your  cousin,  instead  of  your  brother  ?  " 

I  pressed  my  hands  on  my  forehead,  for  it  ached  with  th« 
quick,  lightning-like  thoughts  that  flashed  through  my  brain. 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  431 

u  And  he,  the  inmate  of  yon  dismal  cell  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  an- 
ticipating, as  if  by  intuition,  the  reply,  — 

"  Is  my  brother,  my  twin  brother,  whom  in  youth  our  mother 
could  not  distinguish  from  myself.  This  fatal  resemblance  has 
caused  all  my  woe.  Theresa  la  Fontaine  was  his  wife  and 
Richard  is  his  son,  not  mine." 

How  simple,  how  natural,  all  this  seemed !  Why  had  not  my 
mother  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing !  Knowing 
the  existence  of  this  brother,  why  had  she  not  at  once  found  in 
him  the  solution  of  the  dark  problem,  which  was  the  enigma 
as  well  as  anguish  of  her  life  ?  " 

"  My  unhappy  brother ! "  said  he,  while  a  dark  shade  rested 
on  his  brow ;  "  little  did  I  think,  when  I  visited  his  dungeon  this 
morning,  of  the  revelation  he  would  make !  I  have  been  an 
exile  and  a  wanderer  many  years,  or  I  might  perhaps  have 
learned  sooner  what  a  blessing  Heaven  has  been  guarding  for 
my  sad  and  lonely  heart.  I  saw  you  as  you  passed  out  of  the 
prison,  and  your  resemblance  to  my  beloved  Rosalie  struck  me, 
as  an  electric 'shock." 

"  And  yours  to  him  whom  I  believed  my  father,  had  the  same 
effect  on  me.  How  strange  it  was,  that  then  I  felt  as  if  I  would 
give  worlds  to  call  you  father,  instead  of  the  wretched  being  I 
had  just  quitted." 

"  Then  you  are  willing  to  acknowledge  me,  my  beloved,  my 
lovely  daughter,"  said  he,  pressing  a  father's  kiss  on  my  fore- 
head, from  which  his  hand  fondly  put  back  the  clustering  locks. 
"  My  daughter  !  let  me  repeat  the  name.  My  daughter !  how 
sweet,  how  holy  it  sounds  !  Had  she  lived,  or  had  she  only 
known  before  she  died,  the  constancy  and  purity  of  my  love ; 
but  forgive  me,  thou  Almighty  chastener  of  man's  erring  heart! 
I  dare  not  murmur.  She  knows  all  this  now.  She  has  given 
me  her  divine  forgiveness." 

"  She  left  it  with  me,  father,  to  give  you ;  not  only  her  for 
giveness,  but  her  undying  love,  and  her  dying  blessing." 

Withdrawing  the  arm  with  which  he  still  embraced  me,  he 
bowed  his  face  on  his  hands,  and  I  hardly  dared  to  breathe  lest 
I  should  disturb  the  sacredness  of  his  emotions.  "  She  knowg 


482  ERKEST    LIN 'WOOD. 

all  this  now."  My  heart  repeated  the  words.  Methoughc  th« 
wings  of  her  spirit  were  hovering  round  us,  —  her  husband  and 
her  child,  —  whom  the  hand  of  God  had  brought  together  after 
years  of  alienation  and  sorrow.  And  other  thoughts  pressed 
down  upon  me.  By  and  by,  when  we  were  all  united  in  that 
world,  where  we  should  know  even  as  we  are  known,  Ernest 
would  read  my  heart,  by  the  light  of  eternity,  and  then  he 
would  know  how  I  loved  him.  There  would  be  no  more  sus- 
picion, or  jealousy,  or  estrangement,  but  perfect  love  ind  per- 
fect joy  would  absorb  the  memory  of  sorrow. 

"  And  you  are  married,  my  Gabriella  ?  "  were  the  first  words 
iny  father  said,  when  he  again  turned  towards  me.  "  How  diffi- 
cult to  realize  ;  and  you  looking  so  very  young.  Young  as  you 
really  are,  you  cheat  the  eye  of  several  years  of  youth ! ' 

"  I  was  very  ill,  and  when  I  woke  to  consciousness,  I  found 
myself  shorn  of  the  glory  of  womanhood,  —  my  long  hair." 

"  You  are  so  like  my  Rosalie.  Your  face,  your  eyes,  your 
smile;  and  I  feel  that  you  have  her  pure  and  loving  heart. 
Heaven  preserve  it  from  the  blight  that  fell  on  hers !  " 

The  smile  faded  from  my  lip,  and  a  quick  sigh  that  I  could 
not  repress  saddened  its  expression.  The  eyes  of  my  father 
were  bent  anxiously  on  me. 

"  I  long  to  see  the  husband  of  my  child,"  said  he.  "  Is  he 
not  with  you  ?  " 

u  No,  my  father,  he  is  far  away.  Do  not  speak  of  him  now, 
I  can  only  think  of  you." 

"If  he  is  faithless  to  a  charge  so  dear,"  exclaimed  St.  James, 
with  a  kindling  glance. 

"  Nay,  father ;  but  I  have  so  much  to  tell,  so  much  to  hear, 
my  brain  is  dizzy  with  the  thought.  You  shall  have  all  my 
confidence,  believe  me  you  shall;  and  oh,  how  sweet  it  is  to 
think  that  I  have  a  father's  breast  to  lean  upon,  a  father's 
arms  to  shelter  me,  though  the  storms  of  h'fe  may  blow  cold 
and  dreary  round  me,  —  and  such  a  father  !  —  after  feeling  such 
anguish  and  shame  from  my  supposed  parentage.  Poor  Richard  ! 
how  I  pity  him  !  " 

"  You  love  him,  then  ?  Believing  him  your  brother,  you 
have  loved  him  a.^  such  ?  " 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  43S 

"  I  could  not  love  him  better  were  he  indeed  my  brother. 
He  was  the  friend  of  my  childhood,"  and  a  crimson  hue  stole 
over  my  face  at  the  remembrance  of  a  love  more  passionate 
than  a  brother's.  "  He  is  gifted  with  every  good  and  noble 
quality,  every  pure  and  generous  feeling,  —  friend,  brother, 
cousin  —  it  matters  not  which  —  he  will  ever  be  the  same  to 
me." 

Then  I  spoke  of  Mrs.  Linvvood,  my  adopted  mother,  —  of 
my  incalculable  obligations,  my  unutterable  gratitude,  love,  and 
admiration,  —  of  the  lovely  Edith  and  her  sisterly  affection, 
and  I  told  him  how  I  longed  that  he  should  see  them,  and  that 
they  should  know  that  I  had  a  father,  whom  I  was  proud  to  ac- 
knowledge, instead  of  one  who  reflected  disgrace  even  on 
them. 

"  Oh !  I  have  so  much  to  tell,  so  much  to  hear,"  I  again  re- 
peated. "  I  know  not  when  or  where  we  shall  begin.  It  is  so 
bewildering,  so  strange,  so  like  a  dream.  I  fear  to  let  go  your 
hand  lest  you  vanish  from  my  sight  and  I  lose  you  forever." 

"  Ah,  ray  child,  you  cannot  feel  as  I  do.  You  have  enshrined 
other  images  in  your  heart,  but  mine  is  a  lonely  temple,  into 
which  you  come  as  a  divinity  to  be  worshipped,  as  well  as  a 
daughter  to  be  loved.  I  did  not  expect  such  implicit  faith,  such 
undoubting  confidence.  I  feared  you  would  shrink  from  a  stran- 
ger, and  require  proofs  of  the  truth  of  his  assertions.  I  dared 
not  hope  for  a  greeting  so  tender,  a  trust  so  spontaneous." 

4<  Oh !  I  should  as  soon  doubt  that  God  was  my  Father  in 
heaven,  as  you  my  father  on  earth.  I  know  it,  I  do  not  believe 
it." 

I  think  my  feelings  must  have  been  something  like  a  blind 
person's  on  first  emerging  from  the  darkness  that  has  wrapped 
him  from  his  birth.  He  does  not  ask,  when  the  sunbeams  fall 
on  his  unclouded  vision,  if  it  be  light.  He  knows  it  is,  because  it 
fills  his  new-born  capacities  for  sight,  —  he  knows  it  is,  by  the 
shadows  that  roll  from  before  it.  I  knew  it  was  my  father,  be- 
cause he  met  all  the  wants  of  my  yearning  filial  nature,  because 
I  felt  him  worthy  of  honor,  admiration,  reverence,  and  love. 

I  know  not  how  long  I  had  been  with  him,  when  Mr.  Brahan 


434  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

entered  ;  and  though  it  had  been  seventeen  years  since  he  had 
seen  him,  he  immediately  recognized  the  artist  he  had  so  much 
admired. 

"  I  have  found  a  daughter,  sir,"  said  St.  James,  grasping  his 
hand  with  fervor.  He  could  not  add  another  word,  and  no 
other  was  necessary. 

"I  told  her  so,"  cried  Mr.  Brahan,  after  expressing  the 
warmest  congratulations  ;  "  I  told  her  husband  so.  I  knew  the 
wretch  who  assumes  your  name  was  an  impostor,  though  he 
wonderfully  resembles  yourself." 

"  He  has  a  right  to  the  name  he  bears,"  answered  my  father, 
and  his  countenance  clouded  as  it  always  did  when  he  alluded 
to  his  brother.  "  We  are  twin  brothers,  and  our  extraordinary 
resemblance  in  youth  and  early  manhood  caused  mistakes  as 
numerous  as  those  recorded  in  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  and  laid 
the  foundation  of  a  tragedy  seldom  found  in  the  experience  of 
life." 

While  they  were  conversing,  I  stole  from  the  room  and  ran 
up  stairs  to  tell  Mrs.  Brahan  the  wondrous  tidings.  Her  sym- 
pathy was  as  heart-felt  as  I  expected,  —  her  surprise  less.  She 
never  could  believe  that  man  my  father.  Mr.  Brahan  always 
said  he  was  an  impostor,  only  he  had  no  means  to  prove  it. 

"  How  beautiful!"  she  said,  her  eyes  glistening  with  sympa- 
thetic emotion,  "  that  he  should  find  you  here,  in  his  own  wed- 
ded home,  —  the  place  of  your  birth.  —  the  spot  sanctified  bj 
the  holiest  memories  of  love.  Has  not  your  filial  mission  been 
blest  ?  Has  not  Providence  led  you  by  a  way  you  little 
dreamed  of?  My  dear  Gabriella,  you  must  not  indulge  another 
sad  misgiving  or  gloomy  fear.  Indeed  you  must  not." 

"  I  know  I  ought  not ;  but  come  and  see  rny  father." 

"  What  is  he  like  ?''  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Like  the  dream  of  my  childhood,  when  I  imagined  him  one 
of  the  sons  of  God,  such  as  once  came  down  to  earth." 

"  Romantic  child  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  but  when  she  saw  my 
father,  I  read  admiration  as  well  as  respect  in  her  speaking  eye, 
and  I  was  satisfied  with  the  impression  he  had  made. 

Richard  came  soon  after   informed  by  hia   lather  of  all  I 


ERNEST     LINTVOOD.  435 

could  (ell  him  and  a  great  deal  more,  which  he  subsequently 
related  to  me.  I  think  he  was  happier  to  know  that  he 
was  my  cousin,  than  when  he  helieved  himself  my  brother. 
The  transition  from  a  lover  to  a  brother  was  too  painful.  He 
could  not  divest  himself  of  the  idea  of  guilt,  which,  however  in- 
voluntary, made  him  shudder  in  remembrance.  But  a  cousin ! 
The  tenderness  of  natural  affection  and  the  memories  of  love, 
might  unite  in  a  bond  so  near  and  dear,  and  hallow  each  other. 

In  the  joy  of  my  emancipation  from  imagined  disgrace,  I  did 
not  forget  that  the  cloud  still  rested  darkly  on  him,  —  that  he 
still  groaned  under  the  burden  which  had  been  lifted  from  my 
soul.  He  told  me  that  he  had  hope  of  his  father's  ultimate 
regeneration,  —  that  he  had  found  him  much  softened,  —  that  he 
wept  at  the  sight  of  Theresa's  Bible,  and  still  more  when  he 
read  aloud  to  him  the  chapters  which  gave  most  consolation  to 
her  dying  hours. 

The  unexpected  visit  of  his  brother,  from  whom  he  had  been 
so  long  separated,  and  whom  he  supposed  was  dead,  had  stirred 
still  deeper  the  abysses  of  inemorv  and  feeling. 

I  will  now  turn  a  little  while  from  myself,  and  give  a  brief 
history  of  the  twin  brothers,  as  I  learned  it  from  my  father's  lips, 
and  Richard's,  who  narrated  to  m«  the  story  of  his  father's  life 
a.  ne  heard  it  in  the  dunjreon  of  the  Tombs. 

48 


CHAPTER    L.VI. 

HENRY  Gabriel  and  Gabriel  Henry  St.  James,  were  bora 
in  the  Highlands  of  New  York.  Their  father  was  of  English 
extraction,  though  of  American  birth  ;  their  mother  the  daughter 
of  a  French  refugee,  who  had  sought  shelter  in  the  land  of  free- 
dom from  the  storms  of  the  Revolution.  So  the  elements  of 
three  nations  mingled  in  their  veins. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  their  childhood,  but  their 
resemblance  to  each  other,  which  was  so  perfect  that  their  owe 
mother  was  not  able  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other. 
Perhaps  either  of  them,  seen  separately,  would  not  have  excited 
extraordinary  interest,  but  together  they  formed  an  image  of 
dual  beauty  as  rare  as  it  was  attractive.  They  were  remarkablf 
for  their  fine  physical  development,  their  blooming  health,  and 
its  usual  accompaniments,  sunniness  of  temper,  and  gaiety  of 
spirits ;  but  even  in  early  childhood  these  twin-born  bodies 
showed  that  they  were  vitalized  by  far  different  souls.  Their 
father  was  a  sea-captain  ;  and  while  Gabriel  would  climb  his 
knees  and  listen  with  eager  delight  to  tales  of  ocean  life  and 
stirring  adventures,  Henry,  seated  at  his  mother's  feet,  with  his 
hands  clasped  on  her  lap  and  his  eyes  riveted  on  her  face, 
would  gather  up  her  gently  sparkling  words  in  his  young  heart, 
and  they  became  a  pavement  of  diamonds,  indestructible  as  it 
was  bright  and  pure. 

As  they  grew  older,  the  master-passion  of  each  became  more 
apparent.  Gabriel  made  mimic  boats  and  ships,  and  launched 
them  on  the  bosom  of  a  stream  which  flowed  back  of  their 
dwelling,  an  infant  argosy  freighted  with  golden  hopes.  Henry 
dr«w  figures  on  the  sandy  shore,  of  birds  and  beasts  and  creep- 

(436) 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD  437 

ing  tilings,  and  converted  every  possible  material  into  tablets  for 
the  impressions  of  his  dawning  genius.  Gabriel  was  his  father's 
darling,  Henry  his  mother's  beloved.  I  said  she  could  not  dis- 
tinguish her  twin-born  boys ;  but  when  she  looked  into  their 
eyes,  there  was  something  in  the  earnest  depths  of  Henry's,  an 
answering  expression  of  love  and  sensibility,  which  she  sought 
in  vain  in  his  brother's.  The  soul  of  the  sea-dreaming  boy  was 
not  with  her ;  it  was  following  the  father  on  the  foaming  patha 
of  ocean. 

"  My  boys  shall  go  with  me  on  my  next  voyage,"  said  the 
captain.  "  It  is  time  to  think  of  making  men  of  them.  They 
have  been  poring  over  books  long  enough  to  have  a  holiday ; 
and,  by  the  living  Jove,  they  shall  have  it.  It  is  the  ruin  of 
hoys  to  be  tied  to  their  mother's  apron  strings  after  tuey  ar» 
twelve  years  old.  They  are  fit  for  nothing  but  peddlers  or  coi  • 
port-cure." 

Gabriel  clapped  his  hands  exultingly  ;  but  Henry  drew  closer 
to  his  mother's  side. 

"  My  hero,  my  young  brave,"  cried  the  captain,  slapping  his 
favorite  boy  on  the  shoulder,  "  you  are  worth  a  dozen  such  girl- 
boys  as  your  brother.  Let  him  be  a  kitten  and  cry  mew,  if  he 
will,  while  you  climb  the  topgallant-mast  and  make  ladders  of 
the  clouds." 

"  I  am  as  brave  as  he  is,"  said  Henry,  straightening  hig 
youthful  figure,  and  looking  at  his  father  with  a  kindling  eye. 
"  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  water ;  but  who  will  protect  my  moilier, 
if  I  go  away  with  you  ?  " 

"  Bravo  !  There  is  some  spirit  in  the  boy  after  all,"  ex- 
claimed the  captain,  who  loved  his  wife  with  the  devotion  and 
constancy  cf  a  sailor.  "  He  has  chosen  an  honorable  post,  and 
by  heaven  I  will  not  force  him  to  leave  it.  I  see  that  nature, 
when  she  gave  us  twins,  intended  we  should  go  shares  in  our 
boys.  It  is  just.  Gabriel  shall  go  with  me,  but  the  silver  cup 
of  fortune  may  after  all  find  its  way  in  Henry's  sack." 

Thus  at  twelve  years  of  age  the  twin  brothers  separated,  and 
from  that  era  their  life-paths  diverged  into  a  constantly  widen- 
ing angle. 


438  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

The  captain  discovered  too  late  f.he  error  he  had  committed 
in  cultivating  the  roving  propensities  of  his  son,  to  the  exclusion 
of  steady,  nobler  pursuits.  He  had  intended  merely  to  give 
him  a  holiday,  and  a  taste  of  a  seafaring  life ;  but  after  revel- 
ling in  the  joys  of  freedom,  he  found  it  impossible  to  bind  him 
down  to  the  restraints  of  scholastic  life.  He  wanted  him  to  go 
to  college,  but  the  young  rover  bravely  refused  obedience  to 
parental  authority,  saying,  that  one  genius  in  a  family  was 
enough  ;  and  the  father,  gazing  with  pride  on  the  wild,  hand- 
seme,  and  dauntless  boy,  said  there  was  no  use  in  twisting  the 
vine  the  wrong  way,  and  yielded  to  his  will.  Henry,  imbo- 
somt;d  in  classic  shades,  gathered  the  fruits  of  science  and 
the  flowers  of  literature,  while  his  genius  as  an  artist,  though 
apparently  dormant,  waited  the  Ithuriel  touch  of  opportunity  to 
wake  into  life  and  action. 

Captain  St.  James  had  prospered  in  his  enterprises  and  ac- 
quired a  handsome  fortune,  so  that  his  sons  would  not  be 
dependent  on  their  own  exertions  for  support.  Gabriel  unfor- 
tunately knew  this  circumstance  too  well,  and  on  the  faith  of 
his  father's  fortune  indulged  in  habits  of  extravagance  and  dis- 
sipation as  ruinous  as  they  were  disgraceful.  The  captain  did 
not  live  to  witness  the  complete  degradation  of  his  favorite  son. 
His  vessel  was  wrecked  on  a  homeward  voyage,  and  the  waves 
became  the  sailor's  winding-sheet.  His  wife  did  not  long  sur- 
vive him.  She  died,  pining  for  the  genial  air  of  her  own  sunny 
clime,  leaving  the  impress  of  her  virtues  and  her  graces  on  the 
character  of  one  of  her  sons.  Alas  for  the  other ! 

Free  now  from  parental  restraint,  as  he  had  long  been  from 
moral  obligations,  Gabriel  plunged  into  the  wildest  excesses  of 
dissipation.  In  vain  Henry  lifted  his  warning  voice,  in  vain 
he  extended  his  guardian  hand,  to  save  him  who  had  now  be- 
come the  slave  as  well  as  the  votary  of  vice.  His  soul  clave  to 
his  brother  with  a  tenderness  of  affection,  which  neither  his  sel- 
fishness nor  vices,  not  even  his  crime?,  could  destroy.  A  gam- 
bler, a  roue,  every  thing  but  a  drunkard,  he  at  length  became 
involved  in  so  disgraceful  a  transaction,  he  was  compelled  for 
safety  to  flee  the  country ;  and  Henry,  ignorant  what  course  ho 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  43& 

had  taken,  gave  him  up  in  despair,  and  tried  to  forget  the  ex- 
istence of  one  whose  remembrance  could  only  awaken  sorrow 
and  shame.  He  went  to  Europe,  as  has  been  previously  related, 
and  with  the  eye  of  a  painter  and  the  heart  of  a  poet,  travelled 
from  clime  to  clime,  and  garnered  up  in  his  imagination  the 
sublimities  of  nature  and  the  wonders  of  art.  His  genius  grew 
and  blossomed  amid  the  warm  and  fostering  influences  of  an 
elder  world,  till  it  formed,  as  it  were,  a  bower  around  him,  in 
whose  perennial  shades  ho  could  retire  from  haunting  memo- 
ries and  uncongenial  associations. 

In  the  mean  time,  Gabriel  had  found  refuge  in  his  mother's 
native  land.  During  his  wild,  roving  life,  he  had  mingled  much 
with  foreigners,  and  acquired  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  French 
language,  —  I  should  rather  say  his  knowledge  was  perfected 
by  practice,  for  the  twin  brothers  had  been  taught  from  infancy 
the  melodious  and  expressive  language  of  their  mother's  native 
clime.  The  facility  with  which  he  conversed,  and  his  ex- 
tremely handsome  person,  were  advantages  whose  value  he 
well  knew  how  to  appreciate,  and  to  make  subservient  to  his 
use. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  he  became  acquainted  with  Theresa 
Josephine  La  Fontaine,  and  his  worn  and  sated  passions  were 
quickened  into  new  life.  She  was  not  beautiful,  "  but  fair  and 
excellent,"  and  of  a. character  that  exercises  a  commanding 
influence  over  the  heart  of  man.  Had  he  known  her  before 
habits  of  selfish  indulgence  had  become,  like  the  Ethiopian's 
skin  and  the  leopard's  spots,  too  deep  and  indelible  for  chemic 
art  to  change,  she  might  perhaps  have  saved  him  from  the  trans- 
gressor's doom.  She  loved  him  with  all  the  ardor  of  her  pure, 
yet  impassioned  nature,  and  fully  believed  that  her  heart  was 
given  to  one  of  the  sons  of  light,  instead  of  the  children  of 
darkness.  For  awhile  his  sin-dyed  spirit  seemed  to  bleach  in 
the  whitening  atmosphere  that  surrounded  him,  for  a  father's  as 
well  as  a  husband's  joy  was  his.  But  at  length  the  demon  of 
ennui  possessed  him.  Satan  Avas  discontented  in  the  bowers  of 
Paradise.  Gabriel  sighed  for  his  profligate  companions,  in  the 
bosom  of  wedded  love  and  joy.  He  left  home  on  a  false  pre- 


440  ERNEST      L  1  N  VT  O  O  D  . 

tence,  and  never  returned.  It  was  long  before  Theresa  admit- 
ted a  doubt  of  his  faith,  and  it  was  not  till  a  rumor  of  his  mar- 
riage in  America  reached  her  ear,  that  she  believed  it  possible 
that  he  could  deceive  and  betray  her.  An  American  traveller 
from  New  York,  who  knew  Henry  St.  James  and  was  uncon- 
scious of  the  existence  of  his  brother,  spoke  of  his  marriage 
and  his  beautiful  bride  in  terms  that  roused  every  dormant  pas- 
sion in  the  breast  of  the  deserted  Theresa.  Yet  she  waited 
long  in  the  hope  and  the  faith  of  woman's  trusting  heart,  cling- 
ing to  the  belief  of  her  husband's  integrity  and  truth,  with 
woman's  fond  adhesiveness.  At  length,  when  she  had  but  con 
vincing  reason  to  believe  herself  a  betrayed  and  abandoned 
wife,  she  took  her  boy  in  her  arms,  crossed  the  ocean  waste, 
landed  in  New  York,  and  by  the  aid  of  a  directory  sought  the 
home  of  Henry  St.  James,  deeming  herself  the  legitimate  mis- 
tress of  the  mansion  she  made  desolate  by  her  presence.  The 
result  of  her  visit  has  been  already  told.  She  unconsciously 
destroyed  the  happiness  of  others,  without  securing  her  own. 
It  is  not  strange,  that  in  the  moment  of  agony  and  distraction 
caused  by  the  revelation  made  by  Theresa,  Rosalie  should  not 
have  noticed  in  the  marriage  certificate  the  difference  between 
the  names  of  Henry  Gabriel  and  Gabriel  Henry  St.  James. 

Henry  St.  James  had  been  summoned  to  Texas,  then  the 
Botany  Bay  of  America,  by  his  unhappy  brother,  who  had  there 
commenced  a  new  career  of  sin  and  misery.  He  had  gambled 
away  his  fortune,  killed  a  man  in  a  scene  of  strife  and  blasphe- 
my, been  convicted  of  homicide,  escaped  from  the  sentence,  and, 
lurking  in  by-lanes  and  accursed  places,  fell  sick,  and  wrrote  to 
his  brother  to  come  and  save  him  from  infamy  and  death. 

How  could  he  wound  the  spotless  ears  of  Rosalie  by  the  tale 
of  his  brothei's  guilt  and  shame  ?  He  had  never  spoken  to  her 
of  his  existence,  the  subject  was  so  exquisitely  painful,  for  he 
believed  himself  for  ever  separated  from  him,  and  why  should 
his  blasted  name  cast  a  shadow  over  the  heaven  of  his  domestic 
happiness  ? 

After  having  raised  his  miserable  brother  from  the  gulf  of 
degradation  in  "vhich  he  had  plunged,  and  given  him  the  means 


EBNESTL.NWOOD.  441 

of  establishing  himself  in  some  honorable  situation,  which  he 
promised  to  seek,  he  returned  to  find  his  home  occupied  by 
strangers,  his  wife  and  child  fled,  his  happiness  wrecked,  and  his 
peace  destroyed.  The  deluded  and  half  frantic  Theresa,  believ- 
ing him  to  be  her  husband,  appealed  to  him,  by  the  memory  of 
their  former  love  and  wedded  felicity,  to  forgive  the  steps  she 
had  taken  that  she  might  assert  the  claims  of  her  deserted  boy. 
Maddened  by  the  loss  of  the  wife  whom  he  adored,  he  became 
for  the  time  a  maniac  ;  and  so  terrible  was  his  indignation  and 
despair,  the  unhappy  victim  of  his  brother's  perfidy  fled  trem- 
bling and  dismayed  from  bis  presence. 

In  the  calmer  moments  that  succeeded  the  first  paroxysms  of 
his  agony,  Henry  thought  of  his  brother  and  of  the  extraordi- 
nary resemblance  they  bore  to  each  other,  and  the  mystery 
which  frenzied  passion  had  at  first  veiled  from  his  eyes  was 
partially  revealed  to  his  understanding.  Could  he  then  have 
seen  her,  and  could  ehe  prove  that  she  was  the  wife  of  Gabriel, 
he  would  have  protected  her  with  a  brother's  care  and  tender- 
ness. But  his  first  thought  was  for  Rosalie,  —  the  young,  the 
beloved,  the  deceived,  the  fugitive  Rosalie,  of  whose  flight  no 
clue  could  be  discovered,  no  trace  be  found.  The  servants 
cculd  throw  no  light  on  the  mystery,  for  she  had  left  in  the 
darkness  and  silence  of  night.  They  only  knew  that  Peggy 
disappeared  at  the  same  time,  and  was  probably  her  companion. 
This  circumstance  afforded  a  faint  relief  to  Henry's  distracted 
mind,  for  he  knew  Peggy's  physical  strength  and  moral  courage, 
as  well  as  her  remarkable  attachment  to  his  lovely  and  gentle 
wife.  But  whither  had  they  gone  ?  The  natural  supposition 
was,  that  she  would  throw  herself  on  the  protection  of  her  step- 
mother, as  the  only  person  on  whom  she  had  any  legitimate 
claims,  —  unkind  as  she  had  formerly  been.  He  immediately 
started  for  the  embattled  walls  of  Fortress  Monroe,  —  but  before 
his  departure,  he  put  advertisements  in  every  paper,  which,  if 
they  met  her  eye,  she  could  not  fail  to  understand.  Alas  !  they 
never  reached  the  gray  cottage  imbosomed  in  New  England 
woods ! 

la  vain  he  sought  her  in  the  wave- washed  home  of  her  child- 


442  ERNEST    LINWOOD 

hood.  He  met  with  no  sympathy  from  the  slighted  and  j  ialoua 
step-mother,  who  bad  destroyed  the  only  link  that  bound  tbem 
together,  the  name  of  her  father.  She  had  married  again,  and 
disowned  all  interest  in  the  daughter  of  her  former  husband. 
She  went  still  further,  and  wreaked  her  vengeance  on  St.  James 
for  the  wounds  he  had  inflicted  on  her  vanity,  by  aspersing  and 
slandering  the  innocent  Rosalie.  He  left  her  in  indignation  and 
disgust,  and  wandered  without  guide  or  compass,  like  another 
Orpheus  in  search  of  the  lost  Eurydice.  Had  he  known  Peggy's 
native  place,  he  might  have  turned  in  the  right  direction,  but  he 
was  ignorant  of  every  thing  but  her  name  and  virtues.  At 
length,  weary  and  desponding,  he  resolved  to  seek  in  foreign 
lands,  and  in  devotion  to  his  art,  oblivion  of  his  sorrows.  Just 
before  his  departure  he  met  his  brother,  and  told  him  of  the 
circumstances  which  banished  him  from  home  and  country. 
Gabriel,  whose  love  for  Theresa  had  been  the  one  golden  vein 
in  the  dark  ore  of  his  nature,  was  awakened  to  bitter,  though 
short-lived  remorse,  not  only  for  the  ruin  he  brought  on  her,  but 
the  brother,  whose  fraternal  kindness  had  met  with  so  sad  t> 
requital.  Touched  by  the  exhibition  of  his  grief  and  self, 
reproach,  Henry  committed  to  his  keeping  a  miniature  of  Ro- 
salie, of  which  he  had  a  duplicate,  that  he  might  be  able  to  iden- 
tify her,  and  Gabriel  promised,  if  he  discovered  one  trace  of  his 
wife  and  child,  that  he  would  write  to  his  brother  and  recall 
him. 

They  parted.  Henry  went  to  Italy,  where  images  of  ideal 
loveliness  mingled  with,  though  they  could  not  supplant,  the 
haunting  memories  of  his  native  clime.  As  an  artist,  and  as  a 
rnnn,  he  was  admired,  respected,  and  beloved ;  and  he  found 
consolation,  though  not  happiness.  The  one  great  sorrow  of  his 
life  fell  like  a  mountain  shadow  over  his  heart ;  but  it  darkened 
its  brightness  without  chilling  its  warmth.  He  was  still  the 
sympathizing  friend  of  humanity,  the  comforter  of  the  afflicted, 
the  benefactor  of  the  poor. 

In  the  mean  time  Gabriel  continued  his  reckless  and  dissolute 
course,  sometimes  on  land,  sometimes  on  sea,  an  adventurer,  a 
•oeculator,  a  gambler,  and  a  wretch.  Destiny  chanced  to 


ERNEST    LIN  WOOD.  443 

throw  him  into  the  vortex  of  corruption  boiling  in  the  heart  of 
New  York,  when  I  went  there,  the  bride  of  Ernest.  He  bad 
seen  me  in  the  street,  before  he  met  me  at  the  theatre ;  and, 
struck  by  my  resemblance  to  the  miniature  which  his  brother 
had  given  him,  he  inquired  and  learned  my  name  and  history, 
as  well  as  the  wealth  and  rank  of  my  husband.  Confirmed  in 
his  suspicion  that  I  was  the  child  of  Rosalie,  he  resolved  to  fill 
his  empty  pockets  with  my  husband's  gold,  by  making  me  be 
lieve  that  he  was  my  father,  and  appealing  to  my  Ulial  compas- 
sion. Not  satisfied  with  his  success,  he  forged  th*  note,  whose 
discovery  was  followed  by  detection,  conviction,  imprisonment, 
and  despair. 

The  only  avenue  to  his  seared  and  hardened  heart  had  been 
found  by  the  son  of  Theresa,  coming  to  him  like  a  messenger 
from  heaven,  in  all  his  purity,  excellence,  and  filial  piety,  not  to 
avenge  a  mother's  wrongs,  but  to  cheer  and  illumine  a  guilty 
father's  doom.  His  brother,  too,  seemed  sent  by  Providence 
af  this  moment,  that  he  might  receive  the  daughter  whom, 
from  motives  of  the  basest  selfishness,  he  had  claimed  as  his 
own. 

When  I  first  saw  my  father  at  the  Falls,  he  had  just  returned 
to  his  native  land,  in  company  with  Julian,  the  young  artist. 
Urged  by  one  of  those  Irresistible  impulses  which  may  be  the 
pressure  of  an  angel's  hand,  his  spirit  turned  to  the  soil  where 
he  now  firmly  believed  the  ashes  of  his  Rosalie  reposed.  He 
and  Julian  parted  on  their  first  arrival,  met  again  on  the  morn- 
ing of  our  departure,  and  travelled  together  through  some  of 
the  glowing  and  luxuriant  regions  of  the  West.  After  Julian 
left  him  to  visit  Grandison  Place,  he  lingered  amid  scenes 
where  nature  revelled  in  all  its  primeval  grandeur  and  original 
simplicity,  sketching  its  boldest  and  most  attractive  features,  till, 
God-directed,  he  came  to  the  city  over  which  the  memory  of  his 
brief  wedded  life  trembled  like  a  misty  star  throbbing  on  the 
lonely  heart  of  night.  Hearing  that  a  St.  James  was  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  Tombs,  a  convicted  forger,  he  at  once  knew 
tliat  it  must  be  his  brother.  There  he  sought  him,  and  learned 


444  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

from  him  that  the  child  of  Rosalie  lived,  though  Rosalie  was  * 
more. 

As  simple  as  sad,  was  the  solution  of  my  life's  mystery. 

Concealment  was  the  fatal  source  of  our  sorrows.  Even  the 
noble  Henry  St.  James  erred  in  concealing  his  twin  brotherhood, 
though  woe  and  disgrace  tarnished  the  once  golden  link.  Rosa- 
lie and  Theresa  both  erred,  in  not  giving  then*  children  their 
father's  name,  though  they  believed  it  accursed  by  perjury  and 
guilt. 

Truth,  and  truth  alone,  is  safe  and  omnipotent :  "  The  eter- 
nal days  of  God  are  hers."  Man  may  weave,  bat  she  will  un- 
deceive ;  man  may  arrange,  but  God  will  dispose. 


CHAPTER    LVII. 

I  TOLD  my  father  the  history  of  my  youth  and  womanhood, 
of  my  marriage  and  widowhood,  with  feelings  similar  to  those 
with  v.-'uch  I  poured  out  my  soul  into  the  compassionate  bosom 
of  my  Heavenly  Father.  He  listened,  pitied,  wept  over,  and 
then  -C'-K  soled  me. 

"  T'e  must  prove  himself  worthy  of  so  sacred  a  trust,"  said 
hf.  cHsping  me  to  his  bosom  with  all  a  father's  tenderness,  and 
all  a  mother's  love,  "  before  I  ever  commit  it  to  his  keeping. 
Never  again,  with  my  consent,  shall  you  be  given  back  to  his 
arms,  till  'the  seed  of  the  woman  has  bruised  the  serpent's 
head.' " 

"  I  will  never  leave  you  again,  dear  father,  under  any  cir 
cumstances,  whatever  they  may  be.  Rest  assured,  that  come- 
weal,  come  woe,  we  will  never  be  separated.  Not  even  for  a 
husband's  unclouded  confidence,  would  I  forsake  a  father's 
sacred,  new-found  love." 

"  We  must  wait,  and  hope,  and  trust,  my  beloved  daughter. 
Every  thing  will  work  together  for  the  good  of  those  that  love 
God.  I  believe  that  now,  fully,  reverentially.  Sooner  or  later 
all  the  ways  of  Providence  will  be  justified  to  man,  and  made 
clear  as  the  noonday  sun." 

He  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  his  fine  countenance  beamed 
with  holy  resignation  and  Christian  faith.  Oh  !  how  I  loved  this 
dear,  excellent,  noble  father !  Every  hour,  nay,  every  moment 
I  might  say,  my  filial  love  and  reverence  increased.  My  feel- 
ings were  so  new,  so  overpowering,  I  could  not  analyze  them 
They  were  sweet  as  the  strains  of  Edith's  harp,  yet  grand  al> 
tiie  roaring  of  ocean's  swelling  waves.  The  bliss  of  confidence, 


446  ERNEST     LI  N  WOOD. 

the  rapture  of  repose,  the  sublimity  of  veneration,  the  tender- 
ness of  love,  all  blended  like  the  dyes  of  the  rainbow,  and 
spanned  with  an  arch  of  peace  the  retreating  clouds  of  my 
soul. 

"When  shtU  we  go  to  Grandison  Place?"  he  asked.  "I 
long  to  pour  a  father's  gratitude  into  the  ear  of  your  benefac- 
tress. I  long  to  visit  the  grave  of  my  Rosalie." 

"  To-morrow,  to-day,  —  now,  dear  father,  whenever  you  speak 
the  word ;  provided  we  are  not  separated,  I  do  not  mind  how 
Boon." 

He  smiled  at  my  eagerness. 

"  Not  quite  so  much  haste,  my  daughter.  I  cannot  leave  to 
Richard  the  sole  task  of  ministering  to  the  soul  of  my  vmliappy 
brother.  His  conscience  is  quickened,  his  feeling  softened,  and 
it  may  be  that  the  day  of  grace  is  begun.  His  frame  ia  weak 
*nd  worn,  his  blood  feverish,  and  drop  by  drop  is  slowly  diying 
41  his  veins.  I  never  saw  any  one  so  fearfully  altered.  Truly 
is  it  said,  that '  the  wages  of  sin  is  death.'  Oh !  if  after  herd- 
ing with  the  swine  and  feeding  on  the  husks  of  earth,  he  wines 
a  repentant  prodigal  to  his  father's  home,  it  matters  not  how 
soon  he  passes  from  that  living  tomb." 

My  father's  words  were  prophetic.  The  prisoner's  wasted 
frame  was  consuming  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  like  steel 
when  rust  corrodes  it.  Richard  and  my  father  were  with  him 
every  day,  and  gathered  round  him  every  comfort  which  the 
law  permitted,  to  soften  the  horrors  of  imprisonment.  Not  in 
vain  were  their  labors  of  love.  God  blessed  them.  The  rock 
was  blasted.  The  waters  gushed  forth.  Like  the  thief  on  the 
cross,  he  turned  his  dying  glance  on  his  Saviour,  and  acknowl- 
edged him  to  be  the  Son  of  God.  But  it  was  long  before  the 
fiery  serpents  of  remorse  were  deadened  by  the  sight  of  the 
brazen  reptile,  glittering  with  supernatural  radiance  on  the  up- 
lifted eye  of  faith.  The  struggle  was  fearful  and  agonizing, 
but  the  victory  triumphant. 

Had  he  needed  me,  I  would  have  gone  to  him,  and  I  often 
pleaded  earnestly  with  my  father  to  take  me  with  him ;  but  bj 
eaid  he  did  not  wish  me  to  be  exposed  to  such  harrowing  scenes, 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  447 

and  that  Richard  combined  the  tenderness  of  a  daughter  with 
the  devotion  of  a  son.  Poor  Richard !  his  pale  cheeks  and 
heavy  eyes  bore  witness  to  the  protracted  sufferings  of  his 
father,  but  he  bore  up  bravely,  sustained  by  the  hope  of  his 
soul's  emancipation  from  the  bondage  of  sin. 

The  prisoner  must  have  had  an  iron  constitution.  The 
wings  of  his  spirit  flapped  with  such  violence  against  its  skele- 
ton bars,  the  vulture-beak  of  remorse  dipping  all  the  time  into 
the  quivering,  bleeding  heart,  it  is  astonishing  how  long  it  re- 
sisted even  after  flesh  and  blood  seemed  wasted  away.  Day 
after  day  he  lingered ;  but  as  his  soul  gradually  unsheathed  it- 
self, clearer  views  of  God  and  eternity  played  upon  its  surface, 
till  it  flashed  and  burned,  like  a  sword  in  the  sunbeams  of 
heaven. 

At  length  he  died,  with  the  hand  of  his  son  clasped  in  his, 
the  bible  of  Theresa  laid  against  his  heart,  and  his  brother 
kneeling  in  prayer  by  his  bedside.  Death  came  softly,  gently, 
like  an  angel  of  release,  and  left  the  seal  of  peace  on  that 
brow,  indented  in  life  by  the  thunder-scars  of  sin  and  crime. 

After  the  first  shock,  Richard  could  not  help  feeling  hi.9 
father's  death  an  unspeakable  blessing,  accompanied  by  such 
circumstances.  In  the  grave  his  transgressions  would  be  for- 
gotten, or  remembered  only  to  forgive.  He  must  now  rise, 
shake  off  the  sackcloth  and  ashes  from  his  spirit,  and  put  on  the 
beautiful  garments  of  true  manhood.  The  friends,  who  had  taken 
such  an  interest  in  his  education,  must  not  be  disappointed  in 
the  career  they  had  marked  out.  Arrangements  had  been  made 
for  him  to  study  his  profession  with  one  of  the  most  eminent 
lawyers  of  Boston,  and  he  was  anxious  to  commence  immedi- 
ately, that  he  might  find  in  mental  excitement  an  antidote  to 
morbid  sensibility  and  harrowing  memory. 

My  father's  wishes  and  my  own  turned  to  Grandison 
Place,  and  we  prepared  at  once  for  our  departure.  I  had  in- 
formed Mrs.  Linwood  by  letters  of  the  events  which  I  have 
related,  and  received  her  heart-felt  congratulations.  She  ex 
pressed  an  earnest  desire  to  see  my  father,  but  honored  too 
much  the  motives  that  induced  him  to  remain,  to  wish  him  to 


448  ERNEST    L  I  N  "W  0  0  D 


hasten.  Now  those  motives  no  longer  existed,  I  wrote  to  an- 
nounce our  coming,  and  soon  after  we  bade  adieu  to  ont,  of  tho 
most  charming  abodes  of  goodness,  hospitality,  and  pure  domes- 
tic happiness  I  have  ever  known. 

"  You  must  write  and  tell  me  of  all  the  changes  of  youi 
changing  destiny,"  said  Mrs.  Brahan,  when  she  gave  me  the 
parting  embrace ;  "  no  one  can  feel  more  deeply  interested  in 
them  than  myself.  I  feel  in  a  measure  associated  with  the 
scenes  of  your  life-drama,  for  this  is  the  place  of  your  nativity, 
and  it  was  under  this  roof  you  were  united  to  your  noble  and 
inestimable  father.  Be  of  good  cheer.  Good  news  will  come, 
wafted  from  beyond  the  Indian  seas,  and  your  second  brida] 
morn  will  be  fairer  than  the  first." 

I  thanked  her  with  an  overflowing  heart.  I  did  not,  like  her 
see  the  day-star  of  hope  arising  over  that  second  bridal  morn, 
but  the  sweet  pathetic  minor  tone  breathed  in  my  ear  the  same 
holy  strain :  — 

"  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 

Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  as  thine  aid; 
Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  Uid." 


CHAPTER   LVIII. 

I  WISH  ray  father  could  have  seen  the  home  of  my  youth, 
when  he  first  beheld  it,  in  the  greenness  of  spring  or  the  bloom 
of  summer;  but  white,  cold,  and  dazzling  was  the  lawn,  and 
bleak,  bare,  and  leafless  the  grand  old  elms  and  the  stately 
brotherhood  of  oaks  that  guarded  the  avenue. 

With  pride,  gratitude,  joy,  and  a  thousand  mingling  emotions, 
I  introduced  my  father  into  a  dwelling  consecrated  by  so  many 
recollections  of  happiness  and  woe.  The  cloud  was  removed 
from  my  birth,  the  stain  from  my  lineage.  I  could  now  exult 
in  my  parentage  and  glory  in  my  father. 

Julian  was  there,  and  welcomed  St.  James  with  enthusiastic 
pleasure,  who,  on  his  part,  seemed  to  cherish  for  him  even 
parental  affection.  With  joy  and  triumph  beaming  in  his  eyes 
and  glowing  on  his  cheek,  Julian  took  the  lovely  Edith  by  the 
hand,  and  introduced  her  as  his  bride.  Still  occupying  her 
usual  place  in  her  mother's  home,  in  all  her  sweetness,  simplicity, 
and  spirituality,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  any  change  had  come 
over  her  destiny.  She  had  not  waited  for  my  presence,  because 
she  knew  the  bridal  wreath  woven  for  her  would  recall  the 
blighted  bloom  of  mine.  She  had  no  festal  wedding.  She 
could  not,  while  her  brother's  fate  was  wrapped  in  uncertainty 
and  gloom. 

One  Sunday  evening,  after  Mr.  Somerville  had  dismissed  the 
congregation  with  the  usual  benediction,  Julian  led  Edith  to  the 
altar,  and  her  mother  stood  by  her  side  till  the  solemn  words 
were  uttered  that  made  them  one.  So  simple  and  holy  were  tli£i 
nuptial  rites  of  the  wealthy  and  beautiful  heiress  of  Grandison 
Place. 


450  ERNEST     LINWOOD. 

My  father  spoke  in  exalted  terms  of  the  young  artist,  of  liia 
virtues  and  his  genius,  the  singleness  of  his  heart,  the  upright- 
ness of  his  principles,  and  the  warmth  and  purity  of  his  affec- 
tions. Had  he,  my  father;  needed  any  passport  to  the  favor  of 
Mrs.  Linwood,  he  could  not  have  had  a  surer  one,;  but  her 
noble  nature  instantaneously  recognized  his  congenial  and  ex- 
alted worth.  He  had  that  in  his  air,  his  countenance,  and  man- 
ner, that  distinguished  him  from  the  sons  of  men,  as  the  planets 
are  distinguished  by  their  clear,  intense,  and  steadfast  lustre 
among  the  starry  ranks  of  heaven. 

I  gave  him  the  manuscript  my  mother  had  left  me,  and  at 
his  request  pointed  out  the  road  and  the  diverging  path  that  led 
to  the  spot  where  her  grave  was  made.  I  did  not  ask  to  ac- 
company him,  for  I  felt  his  emotions  were  too  sacred  for  even 
his  daughter  to  witness.  I  mourned  that  the  desolation  of 
winter  was  added  to  the  dreariness  of  death ;  that  a  pall  of 
snow,  white  as  her  winding-sheet  and  cold  as  her  clay,  covered 
the  churchyard.  In  summer,  when  the  grass  was  of  an  emer- 
ald green  and  the  willows  waved  their  weeping  branches  with 
a  gentle  rustle  against  the  clustering  roses,  whose  breath  per- 
fumed and  whose  blossoms  beautified  the  place  of  graves,  it 
was  sweet,  though  sad,  to  wander  amid  the  ruins  of  life,  and 
meditate  on  its  departed  joys. 

The  broken  shaft,  twined  with  a  drooping  wreath  carved  in 
bas-relief,  which  rose  above  my  mother's  ashes,  and  the  marble 
stone  which  marked  the  grave  of  Peggy,  were  erected  the  year 
after  their  deaths.  The  money  which  rewarded  my  services  in 
the  academy  had  been  thus  appropriated,  or  rather  a  portion  of 
it.  The  remainder  had  been  given  to  the  poor,  as  Mrs.  Lin- 
wood  always  supplied  my  wardrobe,  as  she  did  Edith's,  and  left 
xio  want  of  my  own  to  satisfy,  not  even  a  wish  to  indulge.  I 
mention  this  here,  because  it  occurred  to  my  mind  that  I  had 
not  done  Mrs.  Linwood  perfect  justice  with  regard  to  the 
motives  which  induced  her  to  discipline  my  character. 

I  did  not  see  my  father  for  hours  after  his  return.  He  re 
tired  to  his  chamber,  and  did  not  join  the  family  circle  till  the 
evening  lamps  were  lighted.  He  looked  excessively  pale,  even 


EBNESTLINWOOD.  451 

wan,  and  his  countenance  showed  how  much  he  had  suffered. 
Edith  was  singing  when  he  came  in,  and  he  made  a  motion  for 
her  to  continue  ;  for  it  was  evident  he  did  not  wish  to  converse. 
I  sat  down  by  him  without  speaking  ;  and  putting  his  arm  round 
me,  he  drew  me  closely  to  his  side.  The  plaintive  melody  of 
Edith's  voice  harmonized  with  the  melancholy  tone  of  his  feel- 
ings, and  seemed  to  shed  on  his  soul  a  balmy  and  delicious  soft- 
ness. His  spirit  was  with  my  mother  in  the  dreams  of  the 
past,  rather  than  the  hopes  of  the  future ;  and  the  memory  of 
its  joys  lived  again  in  music's  heavenly  breath. 

It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  be  remembered  in  death  as  my  mother 
was.  Her  image  was  enshrined  in  her  husband's  heart,  in  the 
bloom  and  freshness  of  unfaded  youth,  as  he  had  last  beheld 
her,  —  and  such  it  would  ever  remain.  He  had  not  seen  the 
mournful  process  of  fading  and  decay.  To  him,  she  was  the 
bride  of  immortality ;  and  his  love  partook  of  her  own  fresh- 
ness and  youth  and  bloom.  Genius  is  Lafontaine  de  jouvence, 
in  whose  bright,  deep  waters  the  spirit  bathes  and  renews  its 
morning  prime.  It  is  the  well-spring  of  the  heart,  —  the  Castaly 
of  the  soul.  St.  James  had  lived  amid  forms  of  ideal  beauty, 
till  his  spirit  was  imbued  with  their  loveliness  as  with  the  fra- 
grance of  flowers,  and  he  breathed  an  atmosphere  pure  as  the 
world's  first  spring.  He  was  young,  though  past  the  meridian 
of  life.  There  was  but  one  mark  of  age  upon  his  interesting 
and  noble  person,  and  that  was  the  snowy  shade  that  softened 
his  raven  hair,  —  foam  of  the  waves  of  time,  showing  they  had 
been  lashed  by  the  storms,  or  driven  against  breakers  and  reefa 
of  destiny. 

The  first  time  I  took  him  into  the  library,  he  stopped  before 
the  picture  of  Ernest.  I  did  not  tell  him  whose  it  was.  He 
gazed  upon  it  long  and  earnestly. 

"  What  a  countenance  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  can  see  the  lights 
and  shades  of  feeling  flashing  and  darkening  over  it.  It  has 
the  troubled  splendor  of  a  tropic  night,  when  clouds  and  moou- 
bearns  are  struggling.  Is  it  a  portrait,  or  an  ideal  picture  ?  " 

"  It  is  Ernest,  —  it  is  my  husband/'  I  answered ;  and  it 
29 


452  ERNEST     LINWOJD. 

eeemed  to  me  as  if  all  the  ocean  surges  that  rolled  between  tu 
wore  pressing  their  cold  weight  on  my  heart. 

"  My  poor  girl !  my  beloved  Gabriella !  All  your  history  is 
•written  there." 

I  threw  myself  in  his  arms,  and  wept.  Had  I  seen  Ernest 
dead  at  my  feet,  I  could  not  have  felt  more  bitter  grief.  I  had 
never  indulged  it  so  unrestrainedly  before  in  his  presence,  for  I 
had  always  thought  more  of  him  than  myself;  and  in  trying  to 
cheer  him,  I  had  found  cheerfulness.  Now  I  remembered  only 
Ernest's  idolatrous  love,  and  his  sorrows  and  sufferings,  forget- 
ting my  own  wrongs ;  and  I  felt  there  would  always  be  an 
aching  void  which  even  a  father's  and  brother's  tenderness  (for 
brother  I  still  called  Richard)  could  never  fill. 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  I  cried,  "  bear  with  my  weakness,  —  bear 
•with  me  a  little  while.  There  is  comfort  in  weeping  on  a  father's 
bosom,  even  for  a  loss  like  mine.  I  shall  never  see  him  again 
He  is  dead,  or  if  living,  is  dead  to  me.  You  cannot  blame  me, 
father.  You  see  there  a  faint  semblance  of  what  he  is,  —  splen- 
did, fascinating,  and  haunting,  though  at  times  so  dark  and  fear- 
ful. No  words  of  mine  can  give  an  idea  of  the  depth,  the 
strength,  the  madness  of  his  love.  It  has  been  the  blessing  and 
the  bane,  the  joy  and  the  terror,  the  angel  and  the  demon  of  my 
life.  I  know  it  was  sinful  in  its  wild  excess,  and  mine  was  sin- 
ful, too,  in  its  blind  idolatry,  and  I  know  the  blessing  of  God 
could  not  hallow  such  a  union.  But  how  can  I  help  feeling  the 
dearth,  the  coldness,  the  weariness  following  such  passionate 
emotions  ?  How  can  I  help  feeling  at  times,  that  the  sun  of 
my  existence  is  set,  and  a  long,  dark  night  before  me  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer,  —  he  only  pressed  me  convulsively  to  his 
heart,  and  I  felt  one  hot  tear,  and  then  another  and  another 
falling  on  my  brow. 

Oh !  it  is  cruel  to  wring  tears  from  the  strong  heart  of  man ; 
cruel,  above  all,  to  wring  them  from  a  father's  heart,  —  that 
heart  whose  own  sorrows  had  lately  bled  afresh .  Every  drop 
fell  heavy  and  burning  as  molten  lead  on  my  conscience.  I  had 
been  yielding  to  a  selfish  burst  of  grief,  thoughtless  of  the 
agony  I  was  inflicting. 


ERNEST     LINWOOD.  453 

"  Forgive  me,  father ! "  I  cried,  "  forgive  me  !  On  my  knees, 
too,  I  will  pray  my  Heavenly  Father  to  forgive  the  rebel  who 
dares  to  murmur  at  his  chastisements,  when  new  and  priceless 
blessings  gladden  her  life.  I  thought  I  had  learned  submis- 
sion, —  and  I  have,  father,  I  have  kissed  in  love  and  faith  th« 
Almighty  hand  that  laid  me  low.  This  has  been  a  dark  mo- 
ment, but  it  is  passed." 

I  kissed  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  softly  over  my  glistening 
eyes. 

"  Forgive  you,  my  child  ! "  he  repeated,  "  for  a  sorrow  so  nat- 
ural, so  legitimate,  and  which  has  so  much  to  justify  it !  I  hav^ 
wondered  at  your  fortitude  and  disinterested  interest  in  others,  •  - 
I  have  wondered  at  your  Christian  submission,  your  unmurmur- 
ing resignation,  and  I  wonder  still.  But  you  must  not  consider 
your  destiny  as  inevitably  sad  and  lonely.  You  have  not  had 
time  yet  to  receive  tidings  from  India.  If,  after  the  letter  you 
have  written,  your  husband  does  not  return  with  a  heart  broken 
by  penitence  and  remorse,  and  his  dark  and  jealous  passions 
slain  by  the  sword  of  conviction,  piercing  twoedged  and  sharp 
to  the  very  marrow  of  his  spirit,  he  is  not  worthy  of  thee,  my 
spotless,  precious  child ;  and  the  illusion  of  love  will  pass  away, 
showing  him  to  be  selfish,  tyrannical,  and  cruel,  a  being  to  be 
shunned  and  pitied,  but  no  longer  loved.  Do  not  shudder  at 
the  picture  I  have  drawn.  The  soul  that  speaks  from  those 
eyes  of  thousand  meanings,"  added  he,  looking  at  the  portrait 
that  gazed  upon  us  with  powerful  and  thrilling  glance,  "  must 
have  some  grand  and  redeeming  qualities.  I  trust  in  God  that 
it  will  rise  above  the  ashes  of  passion,  purified  and  regenerated. 
Then  your  happiness  will  have  a  new  foundation,  whose  builder 
and  maker  is  God." 

"  Oh !  dear  father ! "  was  all  I  could  utter.  He  spoke  like 
one  who  had  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  my  spirit  caught  the  in- 
spiration of  his  words. 

I  have  not  spoken  of  Richard,  for  I  had  so  much  to  say  of 
my  father,  but  I  did  not  forget  him.  He  accompanied  us  to 
Grandison  Place,  though  he  remained  but  a  few  days.  I  could 
not  help  feeling  ?ad  to  see  how  the  sparkling  vivacity  of  his 


454  ERNEST     LI  X  WOOD. 

youth  had  passed  away,  the  diamond  brightness  which  reminded 
one  of  rippling  waters  in  their  sunbeams.  But  if  less  brilliant, 
he  was  far  more  interesting.  Stronger,  deeper,  higher  qual- 
ities were  developed.  The  wind-shaken  branches  of  thought 
stretched  with  a  broader  sweep.  The  roots  of  his  growing  en- 
ergies, wrenched  by  the  storm,  struck  firmer  and  deeper,  and 
the  wounded  bark  gave  forth  a  pure  and  invigorating  odor. 

I  walked  with  him,  the  evening  before  his  departure,  in  the 
avenue  from  which  the  snow  had  been  swept,  leaving  a  smooth, 
wintry  surface  below.  I  was  wrapped  in  furs,  and  the  cold, 
frosty  air  braced  me  like  a  pair  of  strong  arms. 

I  had  so  much  to  say  to  Richard,  and  now  I  was  alone  with 
him.  I  walked  on  in  silence,  feeling  as  if  words  had  never 
been  invented  to  express  our  ideas. 

"  You  will  never  feel  the  want  of  a  father's  care  and  affec- 
tion," at  length  I  said.  "  My  father  could  not  love  you  better  if 
you  were  his  own  son ;  and  surely  no  own  brother  could  be 
dearer,  Richard,  than  you  are  and  ever  will  be  to  me.  You 
must  not  look  mournfully  on  the  past,  but  forward  into  a  bright- 
ening future." 

"  I  have  but  one  object  in  life  now,"  he  answered,  "  and  that 
is,  to  improve  the  talents  God  has  given  me  for  the  benefit  of 
mankind.  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  personal  hope  or  ambi- 
tion, but  a  strong  sense  of  duty  acts  upon  me,  and  will  save  me 
from  the  corrosion  of  disappointment  and  the  listlessness  of  de 
spair." 

"  But  you  will  not  always  feel  so,  Richard.  You  will  expe- 
rience a  strong  reaction  soon,  and  new-born  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions will  shine  gloriously  to  guide  you  upward  and  onward  in 
your  bright  career.  Think  how  young  you  are  yet,  Richard."  ' 

"The  consciousness  of  youth  does  not  always  bring  joy.  It 
cannot,  when  youthful  hopes  are  blighted,  Gabriella.  One  can- 
not tear  up  at  once  the  deep-rooted  affections  of  years.  Never 
•was  a  love  planted  deeper,  firmer  than  mine  for  you,  before 
the  soil  of  the  heart  had  known  the  hardening  winds  of 
aestiny.  Start  not,  Gabriella,  I  am  not  going  to  utter  one  sen- 
timent, which,  as  a  wife,  you  need  blush  to  hear ;  but  the  parting 


ERNEST    LINWOOD.  455 

hour,  like  that  of  death,  is  an  honest  one,  and  I  must  speak  a3 
I  feel.  May  you  never  know  or  imagine  my  wretchedness 
when  I  believed  you  to  be  my  sister,  knowing  that  though  inno- 
cent, I  had  been  guilty,  and  that  I  could  not  love  you  merely 
with  a  brother's  love.  Thank  heaven  !  you  are  my  cousin.  Ten 
thousand  winning  sweetnesses  cluster  round  this  dear  relation- 
ship. The  dearest,  the  strongest,  the  purest  I  have  ever  known." 

"  You  will  know  a  stronger,  a  dearer  one,  dear  Richard,  — 
you  do  not  know  yet  how  strong." 

"  I  shall  never  think  of  my  own  happiness,  Gabriella,  till  I 
am  assured  of  yours." 

"  Then  I  will  try  to  be  happy  for  your  sake." 

"  And  if  it  should  be  that  the  ties  severed  by  misfortune  and 
distance  are  never  renewed,  you  will  remain  with  your  father, 
and  I  will  make  my  home  with  you,  and  it  will  be  the  business 
of  both  our  lives  to  make  you  happy.  No  flower  of  the  green- 
house was  ever  more  tenderly  cherished  and  guarded  than  you 
pftall  be,  best  beloved  of  so  many  hearts !  " 

"  Thank  you,  oh,  thank  you,  for  all  your  tenderness,  so  far 
beyond  my  worth.  Friend,  brother,  cousin,  with  you  and  such 
a  father  to  love  me,  I  ought  to  be  the  happiest  and  most  grateful 
of  human  beings.  But  tell  me  one  thing,  dear  Richard,  before 
we  part ;  do  you  forgive  Ernest  the  wrong  he  has  done  you,  freely 
and  fully  ?  " 

"  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  do." 

"  And  should  we  ever  meet  again,  may  I  tell  him  so  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  for,  believing  as  he  did, 
vengeance  could  not  wing  a  bolt  of  wrath  too  red,  too  deadly. 
But  I  would  not  recall  the  past.  Your  father  beckons  us,  —  he 
fears  the  frosty  evening  air  for  you,  but  it  has  given  a  glowing 
rose  to  your  cheeks  !  " 

My  father  stood  on  the  threshold  to  greet  us,  with  that  benign 
smile,  that  beautiful,  winning  smile  that  had  so  long  been  slum- 
bering on  his  face,  but  which  grew  brighter  and  brighter  every 
time  it  beamed  on  my  soul. 

The  last  evening  of  Richard's  stay  was  not  sad.  Dr.  Har- 
lowe  and  Mr.  Somerville  were  with  us  ;  and  though  the  events 


456  ERNEST    LIN  WOOD. 

with  which  he  had  been  associated  had  somewhat  sobered  the 
doctor's  mirthful  propensities,  the  geniality  of  his  character  was 
triumphant  over  every  circumstance. 

My  father  expressed  to  him  the  most  fervent  gratitude  for  his 
parental  kindness  to  me,  as  well  as  for  a  deeper,  holier  debt. 

"  You  owe  me  nothing,"  said  Dr.  Harlowe  ;  "  and  even  if  you 
did,  and  were  the  debt  ten  times  beyond  your  grateful  apprecia- 
tion of  it,  I  should  consider  myself  repaid  by  the  privilege  of 
calling  you  my  friend." 

No  one  could  speak  with  more  feeling  or  dignity  than  the 
doctor,  when  the  right  chord  was  touched.  He  told  me  he  had 
never  seen  the  man  he  admired  so  much  as  my  father ;  and  how 
proud  and  happy  it  made  me  to  have  him  say  so,  and  know  that 
his  words  were  true !  No  one  who  has  not  felt  as  I  did,  the 
mortification,  the  shame  and  anguish  of  believing  myself  the 
daughter  of  a  convicted  criminal,  can  understand  the  intense, 
the  almost  worshipping  reverence  with  which  I  regarded  my 
late-found  parent.  To  feel  pride  instead  of  humiliation,  exulta- 
tion instead  of  shame,  and  love  instead  of  abhorrence,  how  great 
the  contrast,  how  unspeakable  the  relief,  how  sublime  and  holy 
the  gratitude  ! 


CHAPTER    LIX. 


THE  snows  of  winter  melted,  the  diamond  icicles  dropped 
from  the  trees,  the  glittering  fetters  slipped  from  the  streams, 
and  nature  came  forth  a  captive  released  from  bondage,  glowing 
with  the  joy  of  emancipation. 

Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful,  more  glorious,  than  the  val- 
ley in  its  vernal  garniture.  Such  affluence  of  verdure  ;  such  rich, 
sweeping  foliage ;  such  graceful  undulation  of  hill  and  dale ; 
such  exquisite  blending  of  light  and  shade  ;  such  pure,  rejoicing 
>reezes  ;  such  blue,  resplendent  skies  never  before  met,  making 
a  tableau  vivant  on  which  the  eye  of  the  great  Creator  must 
look  down  with  delight. 

It  was  the  first  time  Mrs.  Linwood  had  witnessed  the  opening 
of  spring  at  Grandison  Place,  and  her  faded  spirits  revived  in 
the  midst  of  its  blooming  splendor.  She  had  preferred  its  com- 
parative retirement  during  the  past  winter,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
solicitations  of  her  friends,  refused  to  go  to  the  metropolis.  My 
father  and  Julian  both  felt  an  artist's  rapture  at  the  prospect 
unrolled  in  a  grand  panorama  around  them,  and  transferred 
to  the  canvas  many  a  glowing  picture.  It  was  delightful  to 
watch  the  progress  of  these  new  creations,  —  but  far  more  in- 
teresting when  the  human  face  was  the  subject  of  the  pencil. 
Edith  and  myself  were  multiplied  into  so  many  charming  forms, 
it  is  strange  we  were  not  made  vain  by  gazing  on  them. 

I  was  very  grasping  in  my  wishes,  and  wanted  quite  a  pic- 
ture gallery  of  my  friends,  —  Mrs.  Linwood,  Edith,  and  Dr. 
Harlowe  ;  and  my  indulgent  father  made  masterly  sketches  of 
all  for  his  exacting  daughter.  And  thus  day  succeeded  day, 
and  no  wave  from  Indian  seas  wafted  tidings  of  the  absent  hua- 


458  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD 

band  and  son.  No  "  Star  of  the  East "  dawned  on  the  night- 
shades of  my  heart.  And  the  raven  voice  kept  echoing  in  my 
ear,  "  Never  more,  never  more."  There  had  been  a  terrible 
gale  sweeping  along  the  whole  eastern  coast  of  the  Atlantic, 
and  many  a  ship  had  gone  down,  freighted  with  an  argosy  richer 
than  gold,  —  the  treasures  of  human  hearts.  I  did  not  speak 
my  fears,  but  the  sickness  of  dread  settled  on  my  spirits,  in 
spite  of  the  almost  superhuman  efforts  I  made  to  shake  it  from 
them.  When  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  my  father's  paintings,  I 
could  see  nothing  but  storm-lashed  billows,  wrecking  ships,  and 
pale,  drowning  mariners.  I  could  see  that  Mrs.  Linwood  and 
Edith  participated  in  my  apprehensions,  though  they  did  not 
give  them  utterance.  We  hardly  dared  to  look  in  each  other's 
faces,  lest  we  should  betray  to  each  other  thoughts  which  we 
would,  but  could  not  conceal. 

Tbe  library  had  been  converted  into  my  father's  studio.  He 
usually  painted  in  the  mornings  as  well  as  Julian ;  and  in  the 
afternoon  we  rode,  or  walked  as  inclination  prompted,  and  the 
evenings  were  devoted  to  sewing,  conversation,  and  music. 

One  afternoon,  after  returning  from  a  ride  about  sunset,  I 
went  into  the  library  for  a  book  which  I  had  left  there.  I  never 
went  there  alone  without  stopping  to  gaze  at  the  picture  of  Er- 
nest, which  every  day  acquired  a  stronger  fascination.  "  Those 
eyes  of  a  thousand  meanings,"  as  my  father  had  said,  followed 
me  with  thrilling  intensity  whenever  I  moved,  and  if  I  paused 
they  fixed  themselves  on  me  as  if  never  more  to  be  withdrawn. 
Just  now,  as  I  entered,  a  crimson  ray  of  the  setting  sun,  strug- 
gling in  through  the  curtained  windows,  fell  warmly  on  the  face, 
and  gave  it  such  a  lifelike  glow,  that  I  actually  started,  as  if 
life  indeed  were  there. 

As  I  have  said  before,  the  library  was  remote  from  the  front 
part  of  the  house,  and  even  Margaret's  loud,  voluble  laugh  did 
not  penetrate  its  deep  retirement.  I  know  not  how  long,  but 
it  must  have  been  very  long  that  I  stood  gazing  at  thts  picture, 
for  the  crimson  ray  had  faded  into  a  soft  twilight  haze,  and  the 
face  seemed  gradually  receding  further  and  further  from  me. 

The  door  opened.     Never,  never,  shall  I  feel  as  I  did  then 


ERNEST     LI  N  WOOD.  459 

till  I  meet  my  mother's  spirit  in  another  world.  A  pale  hand 
rested,  as  if  for  support,  on  the  latch  of  the  door,  —  a  face  pale 
as  the  statues,  but  lighted  up  by  eyes  of  burning  radiance, 
flashed  like  an  apparition  upon  me.  I  stood  as  in  a  nightmare, 
incapable  of  motion  or  utterance,  and  a  cloud  rolled  over  my 
sight.  But  I  knew  that  Ernest  was  at  my  feet,  that  his  face 
was  buried  in  the  folds  of  my  dress,  and  his  voice  in  deep,  trem- 
ulous music,  murmuring  in  my  ear. 

"  Gabriella!  beloved  Gabriella!  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  called 
thy  husband  ;  but  banish  me  not,  my  own  and  only  love  ! " 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice,  my  paralyzed  senses  burst  the 
fetters  that  enthralled  them,  and  awoke  to  life  so  keen,  there  was 
agony  in  the  awakening.  Every  plan  that  reason  had  suggested 
and  judgment  approved  was  forgotten  or  destroyed,  and  love, 
all-conquering,  unconquerable  love,  reigned  over  every  thought, 
feeling,  and  emotion.  I  sunk  upon  my  knees  before  him,  —  I 
encircled  his  neck  with  my  arms, — I  called  him  by  every  dear 
and  tender  name  the  vocabulary  of  love  can  furnish,  —  I  wept 
upon  his  bosom  showers  of  blissful  and  relieving  tears.  Thus 
we  knelt  and  wept,  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  and  again  and 
again  Ernest  repeated  — 

"  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  thy  husband,"  and  I  answered  again 
and  again  — 

"  I  love  thee,  Ernest.  God,  who  knoweth  all  things,  knows, 
ind  he  only,  how  I  love  thee." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  such  scenes.  Those  who  have 
never  known  them,  must  deem  them  high-wrought  and  extrava- 
gant ;  those  who  have,  cold  and  imperfect.  It  is  like  trying  to 
paint  chain-lightning,  or  the  coruscations  of  the  aurora  borea- 
lis.  I  thought  not  how  he  came.  What  cared  I,  when  he  was 
with  me,  when  his  arms  were  round  me,  his  heart  answering  to 
the  throbs  of  mine  ?  Forgotten  were  suspicion,  jealousy,  vio- 
.ence,  and  wrong,  —  nothing  remained  but  the  memory  of  love. 

As  the  shades  of  twilight  deepened,  his  features  seemed  more 
distinct,  for  the  mist  which  tears  had  left  dissolved,  and  I  could 
see  how  wan  and  shadowy  he  looked,  and  how  delicate,  even  to 
sickliness,  the  hue  of  his  transparent  complexion.  Traces  o' 


460  ERNEST     LIN  WOOD. 

suffering  were  visible  in  every  lineament,  but  they  seemed  left 
by  the  ground-swell  of  passion,  rather  than  its  deeper  ocear. 
waves. 

"  You  have  seen  your  mother  ?  "  at  length  I  said,  feeling  that 
I  must  no  longer  keep  him  from  her,  "  and  Edith  ?  And  oh, 
Ernest !  have  you  seen  my  father  ?  Do  you  know  I  have  a 
father,  whom  I  glory  in  acknowledging  ?  Do  you  know  that  the 
cloud  is  removed  from  my  birth,  the  stigma  from  my  name  ? 
Oh,  my  husband,  mine  is  a  strange,  eventful  history ! " 

"  Mr.  Brahan  told  me  of  the  discovery  of  your  father,  and 
of  the  death  of  his  unhappy  brother.  I  have  not  seen  him  yet. 
But  my  mother !  When  I  left  her,  Gabriella,  she  had  not  one 
silver  hair.  My  hand  sprinkled  that  premature  snow." 

"  It  matters  not  now,  dear  Ernest,"  I  cried,  pained  by  the 
torturing  sighs  that  spoke  the  depth  of  his  remorse.  "  Flowers 
will  bloom  sweetly  under  that  light  snow.  Edith  is  happy. 
We  will  all  be  happy,  —  my  father  too,  —  come  and  see  him, 
Ernest, —  come,  and  tell  me,  if  I  have  need  to  blush  for  my 
lineage." 

"  Not  for  your  lineage,  but  your  husband.  What  must  this 
noble  father  think  of  me  ?" 

"  Every  thing  that  is  kind  and  Christian.  He  has  sustained 
my  faith,  fed  my  hopes,  and  prophesied  this  hour  of  reunion. 
Come,  the  moment  you  have  seen  him,  you  will  trust,  revere, 
and  love  him." 

With  slow  and  lingering  steps  we  walked  the  winding  gallery 
that  led  from  the  library,  and  entered  the  parlor,  whose  lights 
seemed  dazzling  in  contrast  to  the  soft  gloom  we  had  left  behind. 

Hand  in  hand  we  approached  my  father,  who  stood  with  his 
back  to  one  of  the  windows,  his  tall  and  stately  figure  nobly 
defined.  I  tried  to  utter  the  words,  "  My  husband  !  my 
father  ! "  but  my  parted  lips  were  mute.  I  threw  myself  into 
his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  emotion  that  was  irrepressible,  and  he 
grasped  the  hand  of  Ernest  and  welcomed  and  blest  him  in 
warm,  though  faltering  accents.  Then  Edith  came  with  her 
sweet  April  face,  and  hung  once  more  upon  her  brother's  neck, 
and  his  mother  again  embrac  vd  him,  and  Julian  walked  to  the 


ERNEST     LIN  WOOD.  461 

window  and  looked  abroad,  to  hide  the  tears  which  he  thought  a 
Btain  upon  his  manhood. 

It  was  not  till  after  the  excitement  of  the  hour  had  subsided, 
that  we  realized  how  weak  and  languid  Ernest  really  was.  He 
was  obliged  to  confess  how  much  he  had  suffered  from  illness 
and  fatigue,  and  that  his  strength  was  completely  exhausted 
As  he  reclined  on  one  of  the  sofas,  the  crimson  hue  of  the  vel 
vet  formed  such  a  startling  contrast  to  the  pallor  of  his  com- 
plexion, it  gave  him  an  appearance  almost  unearthly. 

"  You  have  been  ill,  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Linwood,  watching 
him  with  intense  anxiety. 

"  I  have  been  on  the  confines  of  the  spirit  world,  my  mother ; 
so  near  as  to  see  myself  by  the  light  it  reflected.  Death  is  the 
solar  microscope  of  life.  It  shows  a  hideous  mass,  where  all 
seemed  fair  and  pure." 

He  laid  his  hand  over  his  eyes  with  a  nervous  shudder. 
"  But  I  am  well  now,"  he  added ;  "  I  am  only  suffering  from 
fatigue  and  excitement.     Gabriella's  letter  found  me   leaning 
over  the  grave.     It  raised  me,  restored  me,  brought  me  back  to 
life,  to  hope,  to  love,  and  home." 

He  told  us,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  how  he  had  found 
Mr.  Harland  on  the  eve  of  embarking  for  India,  and  that  he 
offered  to  be  his  companion ;  and  how  he  had  written  to  his 
mother  before  his  voyage,  telling  her  of  his  destination,  and  en- 
treating her  to  write  if  she  were  still  willing  to  call  him  her 
son.  The  letter  came  not  to  relieve  the  agonies  of  suspense, 
and  mine  contained  the  first  tidings  he  received  from  his  native 
land.  It  found  him,  as  he  had  said,  on  a  sick-bed,  and  its  con- 
tents imparted  new  life  to  his  worn  and  tortured  being.  He 
immediately  took  passage  in  a  home  bound  ship,  though  so 
weak  he  was  obliged  to  be  carried  on  board  in  a  litter.  Mr. 
Harland  accompanied  him  to  New  York,  where  on  debarking 
they  had  met  Mr.  Brahan,  who  had  given  him  a  brief  sketch 
of  my  visit,  and  the  events  that  marked  it. 

As  I  sat  by  him?  on  a  low  seat,  with  his  hand  clasped  in  mine, 
while  he  told  me  in  a  low  voice  of  the  depth  of  his  penitence, 
the  agonies  of  his  remorse,  and  the  hope  of  God's  pardon  that 


462  ERNKST     LINWOOD. 

had  dawned  on  what  he  supposed  the  night  clouds  of  death,  I 
saw  him  stai  t  as  if  in  sudden  pain.  The  lace  sleeve  had  fallen 
back  from  my  left  arm.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  wound  he 
had  inflicted.  He  bent  his  head  forward,  and  pressed  his  lips 
on  the  scar. 

"  They  shall  look  upon  him  whom  they  have  pierced,"  he 
murmured.  "  0  my  Saviour !  could  thy  murderers  feel  pangs 
of  deeper  remorse  at  the  sight  of  thy  scarred  hands  and 
wounded  side  ?  " 

"  Never  think  of  it  again,  dear  Ernest.  I  did  not  know  it, 
did  not  feel  it.  It  never  gave  me  a  moment's  pang." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  well  why  you  did  not  suffer." 

"  But  you  must  not  remember.  If  you  love  me,  Ernest, 
make  no  allusion  to  the  past.  The  future  is  ours ;  youth  and 
hope  are  ours  ;  and  the  promises  of  God,  sure  and  steadfast,  are 
ours.  I  feel  as  Noah  and  his  children  felt  when  they  stepped 
from  the  ark  on  dry  land,  and  saw  the  waters  of  the  deluge  re- 
treating, and  the  rainbow  smiling  on  its  clouds.  What  to  them 
were  the  storms  they  had  weathered,  the  dangers  they  had  over- 
come ?  They  were  all  past.  Oh,  my  husband,  let  us  believe 
that  ours  are  past,  and  let  us  trust  forever  in  the  God  of  our 
fathers." 

"I  do  —  I  do,  my  Gabriella.  My  faith  has  hitherto  been  a 
cold  abstraction;  now  it  is  a  living,  vital  flame,  burning  with 
steady  and  increasing  light." 

At  this  moment  Edith,  who  had  seated  herself  at  the  harp, 
remembering  well  the  soothing  influence  of  music  on  her  broth- 
er's soul,  touched  its  resounding  strings ;  and  the  magnificent 
strains  of  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis, 

—  "  rose  like  a  stream 
Of  rich  distilled  perfume." 

I  never  heard  any  thing  sound  so  sweet  and  heavenly.  It  came 
in,  a  sublime  chorus  to  the  thoughts  we  had  been  uttering.  It 
reminded  me  of  the  song  of  the  morning  stars,  the  anthem  of 
the  angels  over  the  manger  of  Bethlehem,  —  so  highly  wrought 
were  my  :"eelings, — so  softly,  with  such  swelling  harmony,  had 
the  notes  stolen  on  the  ear. 


ERNEST     LINVTOOD.  463 

Ernest  raised  himself  from  his  reclining  position,  and  his 
countenance  glowed  with  rapture.  I  had  never  seen  it  wear 
such  an  expression  before.  "  Old  things  had  passed  away, — 
all  things  had  become,  new." 

"  There  is  peace,  —  there  is  pardon,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  too 
low  for  any  ear  but  mine,  when  the  last  strain  melted  away,— 
"  there  is  joy  in  heaven  over  the  repenting  s'nner,  there  is  joy 
on  earth  over  the  returning  prodigal." 


CONCLUSION 

Two  years  and  more  have  passed  since  my  heart  respondeJ 
to  the  strains  of  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  as  sung  by  Edith  on  the 
night  of  her  brother's  return. 

Come  to  this  beautiful  cottage  on  the  sea-shore,  where  we 
have  retired  from  the  heat  of  summer,  and  you  can  tell  by  a 
glance  whether  time  has  scattered  blossoms  or  thorns  in  my 
path,  during  its  rapid  flight. 

Come  into  the  piazza  that  faces  the  beach,  and  you  can  look 
out  on  an  ocean  of  molten  gold,  crimsoned  here  and  there  by 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  here  and  there  melting  off  into 
a  kind  of  burning  silver.  A  glorious  breeze  is  beginning  to 
curl  the  face  of  the  waters,  and  to  swell  the  white  sails  of  the 
skiffs  and  light  vessels  that  skim  the  tide  like  birds  of  the 
air,  apparently  instinct  with  life  and  gladness.  It  rustles 
through  the  foliage,  the  bright,  green  foliage,  that  contrasts  so 
dazzlingly  with  the  smooth,  white,  sandy  beach, — it  lifts  the 
soft,  silky  locks  of  that  beautiful  infant,  that  is  cradled  so  lov- 
ingly in  my  father's  arms.  Oh !  whose  do  you  think  that  smil- 
ing cherub  is,  with  such  dark,  velvet  eyes,  and  pearly  skin,  and 
mouth  of  heavenly  sweetness?  It  is  mine,  it  is  rny  own  dar- 
ling Rosalie,  my  pearl,  my  sunbeam,  my  flower,  my  every 
sweet  and  precious  name  in  one. 

But  let  me  not  speak  of  her  first,  the  youngest  pilgrim  to  this 
sea-beat  shore.  There  are  others  who  claim  the  precedence. 
There  is  one  on  my  right  hand,  whom  if  you  do  not  remember 
with  admiration  and  respect,  it  is  because  my  pen  has  had  no 
power  to  bring  her  charac  c-r  before  you,  in  all  its  moral  excel- 
lenc e  and  Christian  glory  You  have  not  forgotten  Mrs.  Lin 


ERNEST     LI  If  WOOD.  465 

wood.  Her  serene  gray  eye  is  turned  to  the  apparently 
illimitable  ocean,  now  slowly  rolling  and  deeply  murmuring, 
as  if  its  mighty  heart  were  stirred  to  its  inmost  core,  by  a  con- 
sciousness of  its  own  grandeur.  There  is  peace  on  her  thought- 
ful, placid  brow,  and  long,  long  may  it  rest  there. 

The  young  man  on  my  left  is  recognized  at  once,  for  there  ia 
no  one  like  him,  my  high-souled,  gallant  Richard.  His  eye  spar- 
kles with  much  of  its  early  quick-flashing  light.  The  shadow 
of  the  dismal  Tombs  no  longer  clouds,  though  it  temper?,  the 
brightness  of  his  manhood.  He  knows,  though  the  world  does 
not,  that  his  father  fills  a  convict's  grave,  and  this  remembrance 
chastens  his  pride,  without  humiliating  him  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  disgrace.  He  is  rapidly  making  himself  a  name  and 
fame  in  the  high  places  of  society.  Men  of  talent  take  him  by 
the  hand  and  welcome  him  as  a  younger  brother  to  their  ranks, 
and  fair  and  charming  women  smile  upon  and  flatter  him  by  the 
most  winning  attentions.  He  passes  on  from  flower  to  flower, 
without  seeking  to  gather  one  to  place  in  his  bosom,  though  he 
loves  to  inhale  their  fragrance  and  admire  their  bloom. 

"  One  of  these  days  you  will  think  of  marrying,"  said  a 
friend,  while  congratulating  him  on  his  brilliant  prospects. 

"  When  I  can  find  another  Gabriella,"  he  answered. 

Ah !  Richard,  there  are  thousands  better  and  lovelier  than 
Gabriella ;  and  you  will  yet  find  an  angel  spirit  in  woman's  form, 
who  will  reward  your  filial  virtues,  and  scatter  the  roses  of  love 
in  the  green  path  of  fame. 

Do  you  see  that  graceful  figure  floating  along  on  the  white 
beach,  with  a  motion  like  the  flowing  wave,  with  hair  like  the 
sunbeams,  and  eye  as  when 

"  The  blue  sky  trembles  on  a  clond  of  purest  white  1  " 

and  he  who  walks  by  her  side,  with  the  romantic,  beaming 
countenance,  now  flashing  with  the  enthusiasm,  now  chaded  by 
the  sensibility  of  genius  ?  They  are  the  fair-haired  Edith,  and 
the  artist  Julian.  He  has  laid  aside  for  awhile  the  pencil  and 
the  pallette,  to  drink  in  with  us  the  invigorating  breezes  of 
ocean.  Let  them  pass  on.  They  are  happy. 


4C6  ERNEST      LINWOOD. 

Another  couple  is  slowly  following,  taller,  larger,  more  of 
the  "  earth,  earthy.  *  Do  you  not  recognize  ray  quondam  tutor 
and  the  once  dauntless  Meg?  It  is  his  midsummer  vacation, 
and  they,  too,  have  come  to  breathe  an  atmosphere  cooled  by 
sea-born  gales,  and  to  renew  the  socialities  of  friendship  amid 
grand  and  inspiring  influences.  They  walk  on  thoughtfully, 
pensively,  sometimes  looking  down  on  the  smooth,  continuous 
beach,  then  upward  to  the  mellow  and  glowing  heavens.  A 
softening  shade  has  womanized  the  bold  brow  of  Madge,  and  her 
red  lip  has  a  more  subdued  tint.  She,  the  care-defying,  laugh- 
ter-breathing, untamable  Madge,  has  known  not  only  the  refining 
power  of  love,  but  the  chastening  touch  of  sorrow.  She  has 
given  a  lovely  infant  back  to  the  God  who  gave  it,  and  is  thus 
linked  to  the  world  of  angels.  But  she  has  treasures  on  earth 
still  dearer.  She  leans  on  a  strong  arm  and  a  true  heart.  Let 
them  pass  on.  They,  too,  are  happy. 

My  dear  father !  He  is  younger  and  handsomer  than  he  was 
two  years  since,  for  happiness  is  a  wonderful  rejuvenator.  His 
youth  is  renewed  in  burs,  his  Rosalie  lives  again  in  the  cherub 
who  bears  her  name,  and  in  whom  his  eye  traces  the  similitude 
of  her  beauty.  Father!  never  since  the  hour  when  I  first 
addressed  thee  by  that  holy  name,  have  I  bowed  my  knee  in 
prayer  without  a  thanksgiving  to  God  for  the  priceless  blessing 
bestowed  in  thee. 

There  is  one  more  figure  in  this  sea-side  group,  dearer,  more 
interesting  than  all  the  rest  to  me.  No  longer  the  wan  and 
languid  wanderer  returned  from  Indian  shores,  worn  by  re- 
morse, and  tortured  by  memory.  The  light,  if  not  the  glow  of 
health,  illumines  his  face,  and  a  firmer,  manlier  tone  exalts  its 
natural  delicacy  of  coloring. 

Do  you  not  perceive  a  change  in  that  once  dark,  though 
jplendid  countenance  ?  Is  there  not  more  peace  and  softness,  yet 
4aore  dignity  and  depth  of  thought  ?  I  will  not  say  that  clouds 
never  obscure  its  serenity,  nor  lightnings  never  dart  across  its 
surface,  for  life  is  still  a  conflict,  and  the  passions,  though 
chained  as  vassals  by  the  victor  hand  of  religion,  will  sometimes 
clank  their  fetters  and  threaten  to  resume  their  lost  dominion ; 


En  NEST     LIN  WOOD.  467 

but  they  have  not  trampled  underfoot  the  new-born  blossoma 
of  wedded  joy.  I  am  happy,  as  happy  as  a  pilgrim  and  so- 
journer  ought  to  be ;  and  even  now,  there  is  danger  of  my  for- 
getting, in  the  fulness  of  my  heart's  content,  that  eternal  coun 
try,  whither  we  are  all  hastening. 

We  love  each  other  as  fondly,  but  less  idolatrously.  That 
little  child  has  opened  a  channel  in  which  our  purified  affections 
flow  together  towards  the  fountain  of  all  love  and  joy.  Its 
fairy  fingers  are  leading  us  gently  on  in  the  paths  of  domestic 
harmony  and  peace. 

My  beloved  Ernest !  my  darling  Rosalie !  how  beautiful  they 
both  seem,  in  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  that  are  playing  in 
glory  round  them !  and  how  melodiously  and  pensively,  yet 
grandly  does  the  music  of  the  murmuring  waves  harmonize 
with  the  minor  tone  of  tenderness  breathing  in  our  hearts  ! 

We,  too,  are  passing  on  in  the  procession  of  life,  and  the 
waves  of  time  that  are  rolling  behind  us  will  wash  away  the 
print  of  our  footsteps,  and  others  will  follow,  and  others  still,  but 
few  will  be  tossed  on  stormier  seas,  or  be  anchored  at  last  in  a 
more  blissful  haven. 
30 


THE    END. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  MD  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


solicited  from   Booksellers,   Librarians,    News  Agents, 
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The  Two  Sisters,  .................. 

Lady  of  the  Isle,  .................. 

Prince  of  Darkness,  .............. 

The  Three  Beauties,  .............. 

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Retribution  ...................  ...... 

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Wife's  Victory, 
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><>lum<>s,  bound  ii 
ack  set  is  put  up 

Norstoi 


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75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
ires 

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75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 

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set,  e< 
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75 
75 
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4    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST   AUTHORS. 

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Marriud  Beneath  Him.     By  author  of  "  Lost  Sir  Massingberd," 

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Tne  Clyffards  of  Clyffe,  by  author  of  "  Lost  Sir  Massingberd," 

Margaret  Maitland.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant,  author  of  "Zaidee," 

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Self-Sacrifice.     By  author  of  "Margaret  Maithind,"  etc 

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The  Autobiography  of  Edward  Wortley  Montagu, 

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The  Mncdermots  of  Ballycloran.     By  Anthony  Trollope, 

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Love  and  Liberty.     A  Revolutionary  Story.     By  Alexander  Dunias, 

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The  Coquette:  or,  the  Life  and  Letters  of  Eliza  Wharton. 

The  Pride  of  Life.     A  Story  of  the  Heart.     By  Lady  Jnne  Scott,.... 

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My  Hero.     By  Mrs.  Forrester.     A  Charming  Love  Story, 

Tiie  Quaker  Soldier.  A  Revolutionary  Romance.  Bv  Judge  Jone.«,.... 

The  Man  of  the  World.     An  Autobiography.     By  William  North,... 

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Solf  Love:  or,  The  Afternoon  of  Single  and  Married  Life, 

Memoirs  of  Vidocq,  the  French  Detective.    His  Life  and  Adventures, 

Ciunors.    "The  Man  of  the  Second  Empire."     By  Octave  Feuillet,.. 

The  Belle,  of  Washington.  With  her  Portrait.  By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lnsselle, 

Cora  Bclmont;  or,  The  Sincere  Lover.     A  True  Story  of  the  Heart,. 

Tim  Lover's  Trials;  or  Days  befo-e  1776.  By  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Denison, 

High  Life  in  Washington.    A  Life  Picture.     By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lasselle, 

The  Beautiful  Widow;  or,  Lodore.     By  Mrs.  Percy  B.  Shelley, 

Love  and  Money.     By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  the  "  Rival  Belles,"... 

The  Matchmaker.    A  Story  of  High   Life.    By  Beatrice  Reynolds,.- 

The  Brother's  Secret ;  or,  the  Count  De  Mara.     By  William  Godwin, 

Life,  Speeches  and  Martyrdom  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     Illustrated,... 

Rome  and  the  Papacy.    A  History  of  the  Men,  Manners  and  Tempo- 
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S.  SuFMS'  COMPLETE  FORKS. 


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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  No.  306  Chestnut  Strtti, 
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uniform  edition  of  all  the  works  written  by  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Step/tens, 
the  popular  American  Authoress.  This  edition  is  in  duodecimo  form, 
is  printed  on  the,  finest  of  white  paper,  and  is  complete  in  twenty- 
three  volumes,  and  each  volume  is  bound  in  the  very  best  manner,  in 
morocco  cloth,  with  a  full  gill  back,  and  is  sold  at  the  low  price  of  $1.75 
each,  or  $40.25  for  a  full  and  complete  set.  Every  family  and  every 
Library  in  this  country,  should  have  in  it  a  complete  set  of  this  new 
and  beautiful  edition  of  the  works  of  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens.  The  fol- 
lowing are  the  names  of  the  volumes: 
NORSTON'S  REST. 
BERTHA'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

BELLEHOOD  AND  BONDAGE;  or,  Bought  with  a  Price. 
LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE;  or,  More  Secrets  Than  One. 
THE  OLD  COUNTESS.    Sequel  to  "Lord  Hope's  Choice." 
THE  REIGNING  BELLE. 
PALACES  AND  PRISONS;  or,  The  Prisoner  of  the  Bastile. 

A  NOBLE  WOMAN  ;  or,  A  Gulf  Between  Them. 
THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD  ;  or,  The  Bound  Girl  and  Wife's  Trials. 
MABEL'S  MISTAKE  ;  or,  The  Lost  Jewels. 
WIVES  AND  WIDOWS;  or,  The  Broken  Life. 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD;  or,  Pet  From  the  Poor  House. 
THE  REJECTED  WIFE;  or,  The  Ruling  Passion. 
THE  WIFE'S  SECRET;  or,  Gillian. 
THE  HEIRESS;  or,  The  Gipsy's  Legacy. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS. 
SILENT  STRUGGLES;  or,  Barbara  Stafford. 
RUBY  GRAY'S  STRATEGY;  or,  Married  by  Mistake. 
FASHION  AND  FAMINE. 
MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 
DOUBLY  FALSE;  or,  Alike  and  Not  Alike. 
THE  GOLD  BRICK. 
MARY  DERWENT. 

$gf-  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  at  $1.75  each,  or 
$40.25  for  a  complete  set  of  the  twenty-three  volumes.  Copies  of  either 
one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set  of  them,  will  be  sent  at 
once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  prepaid,  or  free  of  freight,  on 
remitting  their  price  in  a  letter  to  the.  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNDT  STUEET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


MRS.  MA  DJJJODOTORTH'S  ffORKS. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia,  hove  just  pub- 
lished an  entire  new,  complete  and  uniform  edition  of  all  of  the  cele- 
brated works  written  by  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth.  This  edition 
is  in  duodecimo  form,  is  printed  on  the  finest  white  paptr,  is  complete 
in  forty-three,  volumes,  and  each  volume  is  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  with 
a  full  gilt  back,  and  is  sold  at  the  low  price  of  $1.75  a  volume,  or  $75.25 
for  a  full  and  complete,  set.  Every  family,  and  every  Library  in  this 
Country  should  have  in  it  a  complete  set  of  this  new  edition  of  the 
works  of  Mrs.  Southworth.  The  following  are  the  names  of  the  volumes : 

THE  PHANTOM  WEDDING;  or,  the  Fall  of  the  House  of  Flint. 
SELF-RAISED;  or,  From  the  Depths.  Sequel  to  "Ishmael." 
ISHMAEL;  or,  IN  THE  DEPTHS.     (Being  "Self-Made.") 
THE  "MOTHER-IN-LAW;"   or,   MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 
THE  MISSING  BRIDE;   or,    MIRIAM,  THE  AVENGER. 
VICTOR'S  TRIUMPH.     Sequel  to  "A  Beautiful  Fiend." 
A  BEAUTIFUL  FIEND;    or,  THROUGH  THE  FIRE. 

LADY  OF  THE  ISLE;    or,   THE   ISLAND   PRINCESS. 
FAIR  PLAY;   or,  BRITOMARTE,   THE  MAN-HATER. 
HOW  HE  WON  HER.     A  Sequel  to  "  Fair  Play." 
THE  CHANGED  BRIDES;  or,  Winning  Her  Way. 

THE  BRIDE'S  FATE.  Sequel  to  "The  Changed  Brides." 
CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE;    or,  Hallow  Eve  Mystery. 
TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE.     A  Sequel  to  "Cruel  as  the  Grave." 
THE  CHRISTMAS  GUEST;  or,  The  Crime  and  the  Curse. 

THE  BRIDE  OF  LLEWELLYN. 

THE  LOST  HEIR  OF  LINLITHGOW;    or,  The  Brothers. 
A  NOBLE  LORD.     Sequel  to  "  Lost  Heir  of  Linlithgow." 
THE  FAMILY  DOOM;  or,    THE  SIN  OF  A  COUNTESS. 

THE  MAIDEN  WIDOW.      Sequel  to  "  Family  Doom." 
THE  GIPSY'S  PROPHECY;  or,  The  Bride  of  an  Evening. 
THE  FORTUNE  SEEKER;   or,  Astrea,  The  Bridal  Day. 
THE  THREE  BEAUTIES  ;  or,  SHANNONDALE. 

ALLWORTH  ABBEY;   or,  EUDORA. 
FALLEN  PRIDE;  or,  THE   MOUNTAIN  GIRL'S  LOVE. 
INDIA;   or,  THE  PEARL   OF  PEARL  RIVER. 
VIVIA;   or,  THE  SECRET  OF  POWER. 

THE  BRIDAL   EVE;   or,    ROSE    ELMER. 
THE  DISCARDED  DAUGHTER;   or,  The  Children  of  the  Isle. 
THE  PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS  ;   or,  HICKORY  HALL. 

THE  TWO  SISTERS;   or,   Virginia  and  Magdalene. 
THE   FATAL   MARRIAGE;   or,    ORVILLE   DEVILLE. 
THE   WIDOW'S  SON;    or,    LEFT   ALONE. 

THE   MYSTERY   OF   DARK    HOLLOW. 
THE  DESERTED  WIFE.  THE  WIFE'S  VICTORY. 

THE  LOST  HEIRESS.  THE  ARTIST'S  LOVE. 

THE  HAUNTED  HOMESTEAD.     LOVE'S  LABOR  WON. 
THE  SPECTRE  LOVER.  CURSE  OF  CLIFTON. 

THE  FATAL  SECRET.  RETRIBUTION. 

fl£B~ Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  copies  will  be  sent 
to  any  one,  at  once,  post-paid,  on  remitting  price  of  ones  wanted  to 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA« 


GEORGE   LIPPARD'S  WORKS. 

T.  J3.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  No.  306  Chestnut  Street, 
Philadelphia,  have  just  published  an  entire  new,  complete,  and 
uniform  edition  of  all  the  celebrated  works  written  by  the  popular 
American  Historian  and  Novelist,  George  Lippard.  Every  Family 
and  every  Library  in  this  country,  should  have  in  it  a  set  of  this 
new  edition  of  his  works.  The  following  is  a  complete 

LIST    OF    GEORGE    LIPPARD'S   WORKS. 

THE  LEGENDS  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION 
1776 ;  or,  WASHINGTON  AND  HIS  GENERALS.  By  George 
Lippard.  With  a  steel  Engraving  of  the  "Battle  of  Germautown,"  at  "  Chew's 
House."  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  price  $1.50  in  paper  cover,  or 
bound  in  morocco  cloth,  price  S'J.OO. 

THE  QUAKER  CITY;  or,  THE  MONKS  OF  MONK 
HALL.  A  Romance  of  Philadelphia  Life,  Mystery,  and  Crime. 
By  George  Lippard.  WirL  his  Portrait  and  Autograph.  (  omplete  in  one  large 
octavo  volume,  price  §1.50  in  paper  cover,  or  hound  in  morocco  cioth,  i  :-f,  $2.00. 

PAUL  ARDENHEIM,  THE  MONK  OF  WICSAHIKON. 
A  Romance  of  the  American  Revolution,  1776.  By  George  Lip- 
pard. Illustrated.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  price  £1.60  in  paper  cover, 
or  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  price  $2.00. 

BLANCHE  OF  BRANDYWINE  ;  or,  SEPTEMBER  THE 
ELEVENTH,  1777.  By  Georgo  Lippard.  A  Romance  of  the  K evolution, 
as  well  as  of  the  Poetry,  Legends,  and  History  of  the  Battle  of  Bramlywino.  Com- 
plete in  one  large  octavo  volume,  price  &1.50  in  paper  cover,  or  bound  in  morocco 
cloth,  price  $2.00. 

THE  MYSTERIES  OF  FLORENCE;  or,  THE  CRIMES 
AND  MYSTERIES  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  ALBAilOI^E. 
By  George  Lippard.  Complete  in  oue  largo  octavo  volume,  price  §1.00  iu  paper 
cover,  or  $2.00  in  cloth'. 

WASHING-TON  AND  HIS  MEN.  Being  the  Second  So- 
ries  of  the  Legends  of  the  American  Revolution,  1776.  By 
George  Lippard.  With  Illustrations.  Complete  in  one  large  ocia\o  volume,  paper 
cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  PREACHER;  or,  THE  MYS- 
TERIES OF  THE  PULPIT.  By  George  Lippard.  With  Illustrations. 
Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  EMPIRE  CITY;  or,  NEW  YORK  BY  NIGHT 
AND  DAY.  Its  Aristocracy  and  its  Dollars.  By  George  Lippard.  Completes 
in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  NAZARENE;  or,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  WASH- 
INGTONS.  By  George  Lippard.  A  Revelation  of  Philadelphia,  New  York, 
and  Washington.  Complete  in  one  larr;o  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  ENTRANCED  ;  or,  THE  WANDERER  OF  EIGH- 
TEEN CENTURIES,  containing  also,  Jesus  and  the  Poor,  the  Heart 
Broken,  etc.  By  George  Lippard.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper 
cover,  price  50  cents. 

THE  LEGENDS  OF  MEXICO.  By  Goorge  Lippard.  Comprising 
Legends  and  Historical  Pictures  of  the  Camp  in  the  Wilderness;  The  Sisters  of 
Monterey;  The  Dead  Woman  of  Palo  Alto,  etc.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo 
Volume,  paper  cover,  price  5<>  cents. 

THE  BANK  DIRECTOR'S  SON.  A  Revelation  of  Life  in  a  Great 
City.  By  George  Lippard.  One  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  '21  cents. 


Jg^  Above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  copies  of  either 
one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set  of  them,  will  be 
tent  at  once,  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  pontage  pre-paid,  or  free  of 
freight,  on  remitting  price  of  ones  wanted,  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSOX  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


MRS,  HENRY  WOOD'S  NOVELS. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  have  just  published  an  entire 
new  and  cheap  edition  of  the  following  works  written  by  Mrs.  Henry 
Wood.  Each  book  is  printed  from  large,  clear  type,  and  each  work  it 
issued  in  one  large  volume,  and  sold  at  the  following  low  rates: 

THE  SHADOW  OF   ASHLYDYAT Price  $1.50 


GEORGE   CANTERBURY'S  WILL.. 

THE   CHANN1NGS 

ROLAND  YORKE.  Sequel  to  "  The  Channings.".. . 
SQUIRE  TREVLYN'S  HEIR;  OP,  Trevlyn  Hold.... 
LORD  OAKBURN'S  DAUGHTERS;  or,  Earl's  Heirs. 
THE  MASTER  OF  GREYLANDS... 


THE  CASTLE'S  HEIR;  or,  Lady  Adelaide's  Oath.. 

WITHIN  THE  MAZE 

VERNER'S  PRIDE 

DENE  HOLLOW 

BESSY   RANE 

ELSTER'S  FOLLY 

SAINT  MARTIN'S  EVE 

OSWALD  CRAY 

THE  RED  COURT  FARM 

MILDRED  ARKELL. 


1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.30 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 


The  above  are  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each,  or  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 

PARKWATER;  or,  Told  in  the  Twilight Price  75  Cents. 

THE  MYSTERY "  75  " 

THE  LOST  BANK    NOTE "  50  " 

A  LIFE'S  SECRET "  50  " 

THE  HAUNTED  TOWER "  50  " 

ORVILLE  COLLEGE "  50  " 

THE   LOST  WiLL "  50  " 

MY  HUSBAND'S  FIRST  LOVE "  25  " 

MARRYING  BENEATH  YOUR  STATION "  25  " 

THE  RUNAWAY  MATCH "  25  " 

CYRILLA  MAUDE'S  FIRST  LOVE "  25  " 

MY  COUSIN  CAROLINE'S  WEDDING "  25  " 

THE  SELF-CONVICTED "  25  " 

FIVE  THOUSAND  A  YEAR «*  25  " 

THE  DIAMOND  BRACELET "  25  " 

CLARA  LAKE'S  DREAM "  25  " 

THE  NOBLEMAN'S  WIFE "  25  " 

MARTYN  WARE'S  TEMPTATION "  25 

THE  SMUGGLER'S  GHOST "  25 

FRANCES  HILDYARD "  25 

A  LIGHT  AND  A  DARK  CHRISTMAS "  25 

WILLIAM  ALLAIR  ;  or,  Running  Away  to  Sea ...  "  25 

THE  FOGGY  NIGHT  AT  OFFORD "  25  " 

Above  books  are  each  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover. 

JS3~  The  above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  Neu'S  A  gents. 
ysSi'*  Copies  of  any  one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  will  be  sent  to  any 
«ne,  to  any  place,  per  mail,  post-paid,  on  remitting  price  to 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STKEET,  PHII^DELPHIA,  PA. 


CHAKLE 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadel* 
phia,  Pa.,  have  just  published  an  entire  new,  cheap,  and  complete 
edition  of  all  of  the  writings,  large  or  small,  of  Charles  Dickens.  Each 
book  is  printed  from  large,  clear  type,  and  each  work  is  issued  in  a  large 
octavo  volume,  with  a  New  Illustrated  Cover.  This  edition  is  called 

"PETERSONS'  CHEAP  EDITION  !OR  THE  MILLION," 

And  it  is  the  ONLY  EDITION  of  the  COMPLETE  WRITINGS 
of  CHARLES  DICKENS  overprinted.     The  following  volumes  com- 
prise  the  whole  series,  and  they  are  sold  at  the  following  low  rates: 
A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES  ....................  Price  25  Cents. 

OLIVER  TWIST  ..............................     "    50      " 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD  ........................     "     50      " 

AMERICAN   NOTES  ...........................     "     25      " 

HARD  TIMES  ................................     "     25      " 

GREAT   EXPECTATIONS  .....................     "     50      " 

PICKWICK  PAPERS  ..........................     "     50      " 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY  ........................      "     50      " 

SKETCHES  BY  "BOZ."  ......................      "     50      " 

OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP  .......................     "    50      " 

BARNABY    RUDGE  ............................      "     50      " 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES;  and  Pictures  from  Italy.      '    50     '* 
MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT  .......................       '     50      " 

DOMBEY  AND  SON  ..........................       '     50 

OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND  .......................       '     50 

BLEAK  HOUSE  ...............................      '     50 

LITTLE   DORRIT  .............................       '    50 

NO  THOROUGHFARE  ........................       '     25 

HUNTED  DOWN;  and  other  Reprinted  Pieces.      '     50 
THE  UNCOMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER  ...........       '     25 

THE  HOLLY-TREE  INN;  and  Other  Stories...       '     25 
SOMEBODY'S   LUGGAGE  .....................       '     25 

THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  ......................       '     25 

MESSAGE   FROM  THE  SEA  ...................       '     25 

A  HOUSE  TO  LET  ...........................      '     25 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY  .......       '     25 

DICKENS'   NEW  STORIES  ....................      '    25 

THE  PERILS  OF  ENGLISH  PRISONERS  .......      '    25 

TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND  ....................       '     25 

MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS  ..................       '     25 

DOCTOR  MARIGOLD'S  PRESCRIPTIONS  .......       '     25 

MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LEGACY.  ...................       '     25 

MUGBY  JUNCTION  ...........................       '     25 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD  ...........       '     25 

THE  LIFE  OF  JOSEPH  GRIMALDI  ............       '     50 

THE  PIC-NIC   PAPERS  .......................       '     50 

LAZY  TOUR  OF  TWO  IDLE  APPRENTICES...       '     25      " 

^®"  Copies  of  any  one,  or  more,  or  all  of  the  above  books,  will  be  sent 
to  any  one,  to  any  place,  per  mail,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  of  tht 
ones  wanted,  by  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia. 

fl^f*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.    Ask  for  "  Petersons'  Edition"  and 
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S06  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA 


By  Author  of  "Theo,"  &  "That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's," 

KATHLEEN. 

A    CHARMING    LOVE    STORY. 

BY  MUS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT. 


e  following  Books  are  all  printed  on  tinted  paper,  and  are  issued 
in  uniform  style,  in  square  12mo.  form.  Price  Fifty  Cents  each  in  Paper 
Cover,  or  One  Dollar  each  in  Morocco  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold.  They 
are  nine  of  the  best  and  most  saleable  Novels  ever  published. 


KATHLEEN.  A  Love  Story.  By  Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett, 
author  of  "  Theo,"  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowries,"  "  Pretty  Polly  Pemberton," 
etc.  This  is  the  most  charming  and  perfect  of  all  love  stories.  "Theo" 
was  good,  but  "  Kathleen,"  who  was  a  natural  beauty,  is  better. 

"  THEO."  A  Love  Story.  By  Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett,  author 
of  "  Kathleen,"  "  Pretty  Polly  Pemberton."  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's,"  etc. 
One  of  the  best,  purest,  and  most  charming  love  stories  issued  for  years. 

PRETTY  POLLY  PEMBERTON.  A  Love  Story.  By  Mrs.  Frances 
Hodgson  Burnett,  author  of  "  Theo,"  "  Lass  o'  Lowrie's,"  "  Kathleen, "  etc. 

TWO  WAYS  TO  MATRIMONY;  or,  FALSE  PRIDE.  A  book  for 
Ladies  and  for  Gentlemen  ;  as  well  as  for  Mothers,  for  Fathers,  and  for 
all  those  contemplating  Matrimony,  or  those  in  Wedlock. 

THAT  GIRL  OF  MINE.  A  Love  Story.  By  the  author  of  "TJwt  lover 
of  Mine."  It  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  society  novels  ever  issued,  being 
a  true  story  of  Mabel's  flirtatious  in  a  winter  passed  in  Washington  city. 

THE  RED  HILL  TRAGEDY.  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth,  author  of 
the  "  Phantom  Wedding,"  "  Ishmael,"  "  Self- Raised,"  "  Mother-in-Law." 

THAT  LOVER  OF  MINE.  A  Love  Story.  By  the  author  of  "That 
Girl  of  Mine."  "THAT  LOVER  OF  MINE"  will  be  found  superior  in 
brilliancy  and  interest  even  to  its  popular  predecessor.  The  character  of 
the  heroine  is  drawn  from  real  life,  with  all  those  delicate,  shades  and 
sudden  flashes  of  light  which  distinguish  the  girl  of  our  times. 

BESSIE'S  SIX  LOVERS.  A  Charming  Love  Story,  of  the  purest  and 
best  kind.  Written  by  a  Noted  Author.  Bessie,  the  heroine,  is  perfect. 

THE  AMOURS  OF  PHILLIPPE.  A  History  of  "Pmi/LiPPE's  LOVE 
AFFAIRS."  By  Octave  Feuillet.  Translated  from  the  French,  complete 
and  unabridged,  by  Mrs.  Mary  Neal  Sherwood. 

Above  Books  are  50  Cents  each  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.00  each  in  cloth. 


giT  The  above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  News  Agents 
ei'erywhere,  or  copies  of  any  one  or  all  of  them  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to 
any  place,  at  once,  post-paid,  on  remitting  price  to  ike  publishers, 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


THEY  ARE  THE  CHEAPEST  NOVELS  IN  THE  WORLD. 
Price  $1.00  each  in  morocco  cloth;  or  75  cents  each  in  paper  cover. 


"PETERSONS'  STERLING  SERIES'''  OF  NEW  AND  GOOD  BOOKS, 
tire  ccch  issued  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  all  of  one  size,  and  in  uniform  style,  and 
ire.  meeting  with  great  success,  as  the  series  contain  some  of  the  best  and  most  papular 
novels  ever  issued.  The  volumes  are  handy  to  hold,  and  are  bound  in  handsome 
Morocco  cloth,  with  nt-w  designs,  in  gold  and  bla<*k,  on  side  and  back,  and  each  book 
is  sold  at  the  uniform  a,/d  remarkably  low  price  nf  ONE  DOLLAR  A  copy  in  this  style, 
or  inpaper  covers,  taiUt  UIK  e/lges  cut  open  all  round,  at  SEVENTY-FIVE  CENTS  A  COP\, 
Here  is  cheapness  and  a  great  deal  of  good  reading  matter  combined,  which  is  iv!,at  at', 
persons  mint  these  times,  for  each  volume  issu?d  in  "PETERSONS'  STERLING  SERIES" 
contains  as  much  reading  matter  as  is  usually  issued  in  a  $1.50,  $1.75,  or  $2.00  volume. 

PETERSONS'  'STEELING  SEMES'  OF  GOOD  NOVELS  JUST  BEAD*. 

They  are  the  Ctieapest  Novels  in  the  World. 
Price  $1.00  each  in  morocco  cloth;  or  75  cente  each  in  paper  cover. 

TIw  following  works  have  already  been  issued  in  this  series,  and  a  new  one  wiUfat- 
Ihis  series  of  novels  the  cheapest  ever  published,     Thvfvllowintf  are  th^ir*  names: 
CHARLES  O'MALLEY,  The  Irish  Dragoon.    By  Charles  Lever. 
CYBILLA.     A  Lovo  Story.    By  author  of  "  The  Initials." 
THE  FLIRT.    By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  "  The  Gambler's  Wife." 
EDINA.     A  Love  Story.    By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 

HARRY  LORREQUER.    With  His  Confessions.    By  Charles  Lever. 
AURORA  FLOYB.    A  Love  Story.    By  Miss  M.  E.  Bradcion. 
CORINNE  ;  or,  ITALY.    By  Madame  De  Stael. 
POPPING-  THE  QUESTION.    By  author  of  "  The  Jilt." 
FIRST  AND  TRUE  LOVE.    By  George  Sand. 

THE  COQUETTE.    A  Charming  Lovo  Story.    By  author  of  "  Hisserimus." 
THE  MYSTERY.     A  Love  Story.    By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 
THE  MAN  WITH  FIVE  WIVES.    By  Alexander  Dumas. 
THE  JEALOUS  WIFE.    By  Miss  Julia  Pardoe. 
THACKERAY'S  IRISH  SKETCH  BOOK.    Illustrated. 
THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS.    A  Love  Story.    By  Miss  Julia  Pardoe. 
PICKWICK  ABROAD.    Illustrated.    By  George  W.  M.  Reynolds. 
THE  DEAD  SECRET.    By  Wilkie  Collins. 

CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN.    By  Miss  Pardoe. 
SYLVESTER  SOUND.    By  author  of  "  Valentino  Vox." 
BASIL  ;  or,  The  Crossed  Path.    By  Wilkio  Collins 
THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES.    By  Miss  Julia  Pardoe. 
THE  STEWARD.     By  author  of  "  Valentine  Vox." 
MARRYING  FOR  MONEY.    By  Mrs.  Mackenzie  Daniels. 
THE  LOVE  MATCH.    A  Love  Story.    By  Henry  Cockton 
FLIRTATIONS  IN  AMERICA;  or,  High  Life  in  New  York. 
WHITEFRIARS  ;  or,  The  Days  of  Charles  the  Second. 
HIDE  AND  SEEK.    A  Novel.    By  Wilkie  Collins. 

JfKf  The  above  books  are  75  cents  each  in  paper  cover,  or  $1.00  each  in  cloth. 

H3f-  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  copies  of  any  one,  or  mart,  •» 
all  of  tliem,  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  on  remitting  their  price  <,* 

T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

8GG  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  P*, 


PETERSONS'  "DOLLAR  SERIES" 

OF  GOOD  A1\D  NEW  NOVELS 

ARE  THE  BEST,  THE  LARGEST,  THE  HANDSOMEST, 
AND  THE  CHEAPEST  BOOKS  IN  THE  WORLD, 


Price  ONE  DOLLAR  Each,  in  Morocco  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold. 

"PETERSONS'  DOLLAR  SERIES  "  OF  GOOD  AND  NEW 
NOVELS."  Something  entirely  new  in  literature  is  a  series  of  choice  works  of  fiction 
now  publishing  by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia.  Pa.,  under  the  title  of 
"  Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  and  New  Novels,"  which  are  the 
largest,  the  best,  the  handsomest,  as  well  as  the  cheapest  books  ever  published.  They  are 
all  issued  in  uniform  style,  in  duodecimo  form,  and  are  bound  in  red,  tan  or  blue  vellum, 
with  gold  and  black  sides  and  back,  and  are  sold  at  the  low  price  of  One  Dollar  each,  while 
they  are  as  large  and  as  handsome  as  any  books  published  at  $1.75  or  $2.00  each.  The 
following  popular  books  have  already  been  issued  in  the  "Dollar  Series,"  and  a 
new  one  will  be  added  to  the  series  every  month. 

A  WOMAN'S  THOUGHTS  ABOUT  WOMEN.    By  Miss  Unlock. 
TWO  WAYS  TO  MATEIMONY.  A  Book  for  Ladies  and  Gentlemen. 
MY  SON'S  WIFE.    By  the  Author  of  "Caste." 
SAEATOGA !  AND  THE  FAMOUS  SPRINGS.    A  Love  Story. 
OOUNTKY  QUAETEES.    By  the  Countess  of  Blessington. 
LOVE  AND  DUTY.    A  Love  Story.    By  Mrs.  Hubback. 
THE  HEIEESS  IN  THE  FAMILY.    By  Mrs.  Daniels. 
FLOTATIONS  IN  FASHIONABLE  LIFE.   By  Catharine  Sinclair. 
SELF-LOVE.    A  Book  for  Young  Ladies  and  for  Women. 
THE  DEVOTED  BEIDE.    By  St.  George  Tucker,  of  Virginia. 
THE  MAN  OF  THE  WOELD.    By  William  North. 
THE  QUEEN'S  FAVOEITE;  or,  The  Frice  of  a  Crown. 
THE  CAVALIEE.    A  Novel.    By  G.  P.  E.  James,  with  his  Portrait. 
OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.    The  Story  of 'a  Woman's  Life. 
COLLEY  CIBBEE'S  LIFE  OF  EDWIN  FOEEEST,  with  his  Portrait. 
HAEEM  LIFE  IN  EGYPT  AND  CONSTANTINOPLE. 
WOMAN'S  WEONG.    A  Book  for  Women.    By  Mrs.  Eiloart. 
THE  COQUETTE ;  or,  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Eliza  Wharton. 
THE  OLD  PATEOON  j  or,  The  Great  Van  Broek  Property. 
THE  EEOTOE'S  WIFE;  or,  The  Valley  of  a  Hundred  Fires. 
THE  PEIDE  OF  LIFE.    A  Love  Story.    By  Lady  Jane  Scott. 

J£g?~  "Petersons'  Dollar  Series  "  will  be  found  for  sale  by  all  Booksellert, 
or  copies  of  any  one  or  all  of  them,  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  to  any  one,  to  any 
place,  on  remitting  the  price  of  the  ones  wanted,  to  the  Publishers, 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

3O6  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  pa. 


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"  PETERSON'S  MAGAZINE"  has  the  b««t  Original  Stories  of  any  of  the  lady's 
books,  the  best  Colored  Fashion  Plates,  thn  best  lierlin  Patterns,  the  boat  Keceipta. 
Its  principal  illustrations  are  not  cheap  wood-cuts,  as  with  others,  but 

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It  has  lung  beeu  celebrated  lor  its 

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authors  of  America.  Also,  nearly  a  hundred  skorier  ttories,  ALL  ORIGINAL.  Its  superb 

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Is.  CULM  LES  Him  I ois 


12  VOLUMES,  AT  $1.75  EACH ;  OR  $21.00  A  SET- 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  No.  306  Chestnut  Street, 
Philadelphia,  have  just  published  an  entire  new,  complete,  and  uniform 
edition  of  all  the  celebrated  Novels  written  by  the  popiClar  American 
Novelist,  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz,  in  twelve  large  duodecimo  volumes. 
They  are  printed  on  the  finest  paper,  and  bound  in  the  most  beautiful 
style,  in  Green  Morocco  cloth,  with  a  new,  full  gilt  back,  and  sold  at 
the  low  price  of  $1.75  each,  or  $21.00  for  a  full  and  complete  set. 
Every  Family  and  every  Library  in  this  country,  should  have  in  it  a 
complete  set  of  this  new  and  beautiful  edition  of  the  works  of  Mrs. 
Caroline  Lee  Hentz.  The  following  is  a  complete  list  of 

MRS,  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ'S  WORKS, 

LINDA;  OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.    With 

a  complete  Biography  of  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz. 
EGBERT  GRAHAM.    A  Sequel  to  "Linda;  or,  The  Young  Pilot 

of  the  Belle  Creole." 

EENA ;  or,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.    A  Tale  of  Real  Life. 
MARCUS  WARLAND ;  or,  The  Long  Moss  Spring. 
ERNEST  LINWOOD ;  or,  The  Inner  Life  of  the  Author. 
EOLINE;  or,  MAGNOLIA  VALE;  or,  The  Heiress  of  Glenmore. 
THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE;  or,  Scenes  in  Mrs.  Hentz'* 

Childhood. 

HELEN  AND  ARTHUR;  or,  Miss  Thusa's  Spinning- Wheel. 
COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE;   or,  The    Joys    and  Sorrows  of 

American  Life. 

LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 
THE  LOST  DAUGHTER;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 
THE  BANISHED  SON;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 

$®~  Above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  at  $1.75  each,  *> 
$21. 00  for  a  complete  set  of  the  twelve  volumes.  Copies  of  either  ont 
of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set  of  them,  will  be  sent  at  once  ta 
arty  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-paid,  or  free  of  freight,  on  remit- 
ting their  price  in  a  letter  to  the.  Publishers,  ^>  ^J2L  ifQ  & 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,          *    J 

206  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA.  '•iff 


t.    s 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

-YT 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DATE  SdNT 

ZLL-CUfl 

MAY06199L  . 

[4WK  SEP  30  l<m 

DUE  3  MONTHS  Fphna 
DATE  RECEIVEI 


316 


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